


I'll Will My Wild Eyes Bright

by HigherMagic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Assassination Plot(s), Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Will Graham, Breeding, Breeding Kink, Canon-Typical Violence, Concubine Will Graham, Dark Will Graham, First Time, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Kings & Queens, Language Barrier, Language Kink, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Will Graham, Masturbation, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Murder Husbands, Murder Kink, Omega Will Graham, Rimming, Top Hannibal Lecter, Virginity, Will Graham is a Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22997209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: "You would do well to remember that people like you are best seen and not heard," Mason says sharply. "Our new friend is far less forgiving than I am, if the rumors are even half true." Will nods, and resists the urge to pet over his face and wipe Mason's scent away. "I want you to kill him, Will. Whatever it takes. Will you do it?""Of course, Your Majesty," Will replies, nodding. "I am your humble servant."
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 274
Kudos: 1758
Collections: Hannigram Kinkmeme





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt in the kinkmeme: AU where there's a war going on and Hannibal is a conqueror. Will is offered up to Hannibal as a concubine in order to smooth relations and save their people, but Will's real mission is as a spy and assassin. Except Will quickly realizes that the only way to get close enough to Hannibal to complete his mission is to convince him to take him as his mate.
> 
> Title taken from 'Rich' by Cosmo Sheldrake.

"It's the way of the world, my boy. People are going to want to take advantage of you. They will think you weak, or stupid, just because of how you were born. They will lust after your beauty. They will not care about or think to pay attention to the inner workings of your mind."

Will sighs, closing his eyes, his mother's voice soft in his head. He can still remember how it felt to have him petting through Will's wild hair, braiding it when it grew long enough. Always encouraging the waves, the tangles, the messes.

He wraps another golden band around his wrist, rolling his hand to make sure it doesn't pinch or grip too tightly.

"That's why you must learn to be silent, and observe. You're smart, you're so smart, Will. I know one day you'll rule this place. You just have to pay attention."

The silk draped around his waist is so thin it's almost see-through, leaving little to the imagination. It's cut, slit up each of his thighs to reveal them when he walks. A golden band slung low as a belt around his hips makes sure it won't fall too far, but it rides very low on his belly, below the upper cut of his hipbones.

Beside him, Franklyn is pale with nerves, fumbling with the bracelets and necklaces that were given by their oh-so-generous King. Will watches him for a while, debates helping him. Finally, he turns away, scratching his fingers into the roots of his hair so that it fluffs out in the humid air.

"One day," his mother had told him, "you will not be as you are, anymore. You will ascend. I'm sure of it."

Will has always been different. He is the only pleasure slave in the King's service that has never known the touch of an Alpha. He is the only one who has served more than one King.

First, there was Jack Crawford. He was a just and stern ruler. Already mated, and so had no desire to use the concubines that had been inherited from his predecessor. The Queen had given him no children, but still Jack never came to any of their beds, never touched anyone in his care. He gave them potions to ease their heats and brought swift and absolute justice to anyone who would try to take advantage of them, to touch without permission.

When the King grew old and the end of his time on this Earth drew near, he named his successor. Only chosen, Will suspects with a bitter smile, because his family had lined the pockets of the crown for years. Mason Verger is King now – a coward, a weak Alpha, lecherous and loud. Still, Will supposes he is fortunate, for by the time Mason ascended to the throne, Will was too old for his tastes. Mason doesn’t like Omegas who have already gone through a heat. He takes them for his own during that time, then tosses them away and never looks at them again.

But he is a weak and cruel King and there is an invading enemy on their doorstep. The only choice is surrender – Will has heard rumors of this new conqueror. He has armies, all of them loyal and fierce down to the last man. He has swept through the entirety of the East, laid low every Kingdom and assumed every throne he came across. Will supposes he is not surprised – Mason is not a fighter. He has no head for war, only thinking of saving his own neck.

Will has lived at the castle for his entire life, and his mother was a slave before him, bedded by a soldier during one of the parties King Jack's predecessor would often throw for his friends or after a victory in battle. Will never met his sire, and he doesn't particularly care to. He imagines he died, somewhere far away, shivering in his armor and stained with blood and dirt.

A shadow draws his attention – it is Cordell, Mason's personal guard. Will's eyes narrow as the man casts his gaze around the gathered Omegas, all of them rubbing oil into their skin to make them shine, donning bracelets of gold and luxurious fine silks that do nothing to hide their bodies. Will isn't stupid; he knows what's going to happen to them. They'll be given over to this new conqueror as a gift of good faith, perhaps a bargaining chip. Whores and slaves for him to enjoy and for his soldiers to feast on while they talk of surrender.

Cordell's eyes land on him, and his smile twists into something too-wide and plastic like a doll. He beckons Will over and Will goes. "His Majesty would like a word with you."

Will nods, following Cordell out of the nesting hall and down the long castle hallways. The marble is cold on his bare feet, but Will is used to it. Omegas in the pleasure slave caste get used to being in all kinds of temperatures with very little clothing to protect themselves. They are only meant to shiver with delight and pleasure, make no noise and no motion except to entice and submit.

Cordell leads him to one of the antechambers where the King's Council often meet. Will has been in this room a few times, for Mason often entertains his Generals and Captains in this room and for some reason he has taken quite a shine to Will, despite Will's age and subsequent undesirability. Will imagines it's more because he used to serve Jack, and his apparent loyalty to the current King makes Mason look better.

The room is relatively plain in comparison with the rest of the castle. There's a large wooden table ringed with high-backed chairs, all of them bearing the Verger crest. There's a map on the table with little figurines depicting Verger armies, and the armies of this new conqueror – Will blinks in surprise to see such a number, and wonders what kind of man could command such a vast army with so much apparent ease.

Mason is there, wearing the same heavy robes Jack made popular, but on him they make him look like a child who has raided his father's wardrobe. He does not have the broad shoulders and powerful build of the man who came before him, and the thick purple robes with the wide fur collar, the shining gold crown upon his head, all look just a little too large.

He smiles at Will when Cordell steps to one side. His smile reminds Will of a fox. "Ah, Will," he greets, his eyes raking Will up and down. "You look beautiful, as always."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Will replies with a demure nod of his head, his voice flat. He's used to the compliments; he's been given them all his life from almost everyone he's known. He approaches the table as Mason gestures for him to, rests his hands on the back of his right-hand chair and stares at the map. "Is he at our doorstep, then?"

"Yes," Mason sighs, lips pursing. He holds his hand out and Cordell hands him a goblet of wine. He slurps at it noisily, and Will's nostrils flare. Surely a King would have better table manners. "His entourage will arrive before sunset, from the last report."

Will hums, lips twitching.

"Why do you smile?" Mason challenges.

"You didn't summon me here to speak of things we already know," Will replies, brow arched. He doesn't fear Mason, he cannot possibly fear a man who prefers to touch little boys and girls, who can't even muster enough loyalty to launch a resistance. Who is going to be welcoming a conqueror into his lands and castle like an old friend, give him music and wine and food and whores by the dozen.

Mason's eyes narrow, but he doesn't rise to Will's bait. "Yes," he says slowly. "I am led to believe that you are…trained, in certain things." Will's head tilts. "You belong to the Night Order, correct?"

"My mother was one of them," Will replies with a nod. "He taught me, yes. Though thankfully we have had a peaceful enough stretch of time that my lessons have not been put to the test."

"And what if I were to command you to test them now?" Mason asks. Will expected this.

He smiles. "Then I would, my King. Happily. While you remain on the throne, I am yours to command."

That seems to delight Mason greatly. He lets out a cry of pleasure, clapping his hands together around his drink so the liquid sloshes over his fingers, and stands, setting the goblet down and approaching Will. "What, exactly, did your mother teach you?"

Will smiles. "Your Majesty, surely you know."

"Don't play coy with me, boy."

Will hums, pressing his lips together as Mason prowls closer. He smells like sour wine and sweat; an anxious Alpha scent that clings to Will's mouth and makes his teeth feel too sharp. "Assassinations," he says. "You've kept me a virgin; that'll help. I can get close to your enemies and do away with them in whatever manner pleases you most."

Mason grins. Even though he is a weak Alpha, he has the bite of a strong one, his fangs overly large and ill-fitting just like his clothes. "His name is Hannibal," he says, gesturing to the map. Will's eyes fall to it, again. "He's a brute. A monster. He's killed your kin by the thousands, and now he's trying to take your home away from you."

Will stiffens, as Mason's fingers dance along his bare waist, up his shoulder. "I imagine he'd like to take more from you."

"You want me to kill this man," Will says.

Mason's touch lingers just a fraction longer, and then he turns away, beckoning Cordell over to refill his cup. "You served the late King Crawford as well, didn't you?" he asks. Will nods. "And he never bedded you."

"He never bedded anyone except his mate," Will says. It would be cruel, otherwise – one of those unspoken things only those with a soul seem to care about. Taking a mate is an irrevocable act; it binds two together, and separation of that bond, infidelity or cruelty or some other kind of abuse, makes the bonded suffer awfully. Will has no doubt Mason takes his playthings and forces them to bond with him, leaving them broken and wretched when he throws them back out into the herd.

Mason's smile is a little too sharp for Will's liking. "Did you prefer him as a ruler over me?" he asks, far too gently. Coaxing and kind; it fits him just as badly as his clothes.

Will lifts his chin. "I am loyal to my King," he replies. "The lawful King."

"And so if I commanded you to prove your loyalty to me, as you would have so _eagerly_ done for Jack, you would?" Mason purrs, slurping at his wine. "If I commanded you to spread your legs and let me fuck you over this table, you would?"

Will's fingers curl around the back of the chair, the only sign of his revulsion he allows himself to give. His voice is steady; "Yes. But I'm too old for your tastes."

Mason laughs. "That you are. Unfortunately." He sets his cup down and takes Will by the chin. "If you succeed, however, I'll see you rewarded. I would certainly be willing to overlook a little indiscretion if you brought me Hannibal's head."

Will swallows, wincing when Mason lets him go. "Though," he adds thoughtfully, "I'm not sure I would trust a Kingslayer in my bedchambers."

Will cannot help laugh. "If I'm to commit high treason, Your Majesty, it would be with someone worth spending my life in jail for killing." Mason's eyes flash, his upper lip twitching to reveal his savage teeth. If there is one emotion easily tugged from his King, it's anger. Anger makes Alphas stupid and reckless.

"I'm not worth killing?" he asks.

Will shakes his head. "My Lord," he replies, overly sweet, petting over his neck and shifting his weight so it's on one leg, hip cocked out and a smile spreading his lips wide; "Perish the thought."

Mason growls, and grabs Will's chin again, forcing him to meet Mason's reddened eyes. "Rest assured, boy, if you fail, I'll fuck you dry and bare, and let all of my courtiers and soldiers have you. And when they're done, their dogs and horses too." Will shudders, and Mason's smile grows wide. "Would I be worth killing then?"

It's obvious he's trying to cow Will, and Will might be proud, he might be strong, but he's not stupid. He dips his eyes and lets out a plaintive little whine. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I spoke out of turn." Mason hums, and releases his chin, wiping his hand on his robe like touching Will got him dirty.

"You would do well to remember that people like you are best seen and not heard," Mason says sharply. "Our new friend is far less forgiving than I am, if the rumors are even half true." Will nods, and resists the urge to pet over his face and wipe Mason's scent away. "I want you to kill him, Will. Whatever it takes. Will you do it?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," Will replies, nodding. "I am your humble servant."

Mason hums, and turns away from him with a dismissive gesture. "Go make yourself as pretty as possible. Our plan hinges on you being able to catch and keep his eye – for all we know he is a man of refined tastes and only likes certain creatures. You must make yourself irresistible."

Will nods again. "Of course."

"Go, then, away with you," Mason commands. Cordell comes forward to herd Will back towards the nesting halls. As soon as they're out of the room, Will rubs his hands over his cheek and neck, growling at the cling of Mason's scent on his skin. Thankfully, Mason's touch is as weak as the rest of him, and he feels much more like himself by the time he rejoins the rest of his clan.

Franklyn looks up at him with wide eyes. He was one of the ones Mason took, when he was a boy. Now he's a terribly needy thing, so desperate for affection and praise, the scar on his neck an ugly ring of raised white skin.

"The King spoke to you?" he asks, as Will settles and takes one of the bottles of oil, pouring it on his hands and rubbing it across his shoulders to soften his skin and make it shine.

"Yes," Will replies. He finishes with the bottle and rucks his fingers through his hair again. He might braid it before Hannibal arrives, to make sure it's as fluffy and curly as possible when he takes it back out. Alphas like Omegas they can grab, so he's been told.

It's clear Franklyn is desperate for more information, but Will refuses to give it. The first rule of the Night Order is discretion and secrecy; the walls have ears and the doors have eyes, and you can't trust anyone, especially with missions like this.

Will pauses, lifting his head as another scent reaches him. It's Margot, the King's sister, the one responsible for the care of his concubines. She smiles at Will as she passes him, giving him a nod of greeting, and approaches another group of Omegas who are bathing in the wide basin filled with perfumed, steaming water. Will's eyes linger on her; normally she sends her handmaiden, Alana, to see to preparations for a feast or similar event where the whores go on display. Her presence here emphasizes how serious this is.

He stands, abandoning Franklyn, and approaches her. "Your Grace," he says in greeting, with a respectful bow, when her attention turns to him. "May I ask a word with you, in private?"

Margot nods. "Of course, Will," she replies, standing and following him to a corner of the nesting halls where there are no other people. "What's on your mind?"

"What do you know of this Hannibal?" Will asks. "And do you know of your brother's intentions for him?"

"I do," she says, her eyes growing dark, mouth thin and drawn flat with concern. She sighs through her nose and folds her arms across her chest. She often wears plain dresses, but right now she is clothed in a rich purple gown, embroidered with pearls and golden stitching around the hem, and wide sleeves hanging from the shoulders. She's wearing jewelry, also, and thin strands of gold and black onyx are woven into her hair. "I confess, I had hoped we would never have need of the Night Order, but here we are."

"Weakness attracts necessity," Will replies. He has no qualms about being put to use; his training is so old it is engrained in his bones. Killing for the sake of his country and his King is as natural an idea to him as breathing. She blinks at him, but has nothing to say to that. "And what of this man? Do you know anything about him?"

"I know that he is said to be remarkably cruel," she tells him. "And proud."

Will nods. Not surprising; the role of conqueror attracts a specific kind of person.

"He once skinned one of his Generals alive for bedding a servant girl against her will," Margot adds.

Will blinks, frowning, tilting his head. He says nothing.

"I heard he rounded up an entire village and burned them all, too. Salted the Earth so nothing would grow there." Will hums, considering that. "He seems to me the kind of man who finds a unique pleasure in killing."

"And yet," Will says, "he has so many armies fiercely loyal to him. It's impossible to lead such a united front out of fear alone."

She shrugs.

"Thank you, my Lady," Will says with another bow of his head. She nods, smiling at him, and pats his damp shoulder before returning to the baths. Will remains where he is, unwilling to go back in and be distracted.

He crouches, his back to the wall, closes his eyes and breathes out, fingers laced loosely, elbows on his thighs. His mother taught him to center and ground himself before he ever tried to do something as dangerous as think.

Hannibal is an Alpha. Obviously, otherwise Mason wouldn't be trying to throw every concubine he owns at him to win his benevolence. This will be the third Kingdom he has taken through sheer force alone, and Will doesn't have access to enough of the politicians and courtiers and townspeople to know just how far or brutally his damage has spread. For all he knows, the entire Kingdom outside this castle has been salted and burned – and yet, he has also heard no tales of uprising, no wailing mournful cries of ruined towns and wounded villages. If Hannibal has truly taken every land he has entered, then he either leaves it in relatively good order, or razes it to the ground so there is no one left to mourn.

That's not smart, in the long run. Conquering is all well and good but without leaving behind a stable foundation for continuous life, then it's just killing. Just murder. Armies don't follow men like that, not for so long and not so far across the world.

He thinks of what Margot told him; the General he skinned alive. Probably publicly. How would Hannibal have known a servant was raped, so that he could act upon it? It suggests he is aware of everyone under his rule. That he cares, or at least has some sense of justice to punish a transgression that insults his sensibilities.

Will must admit, it's heartening to know that he doesn't tolerate sexual assault. Will has seen far too much of it in his life, though he's never been a victim of it himself. It means that Will, when he gets close – because he has to get close, that's the whole point of training a concubine to be an assassin – that he won't have to get _too_ close. That Hannibal would not, might not, touch him without his consent.

Though the idea of literally getting into bed with the enemy isn't altogether unpleasant, especially if it would piss off Mason.

He sighs, and absently pulls at his hair, twisting it around his fingers, scratching down the nape of his neck. The oil is drying and making his skin feel tacky, it smells too sweet and covers up his natural scent, so it's hard to self-soothe.

He stands, abruptly, and heads to the baths. Not the perfumed ones in the nesting halls, but the plainer ones used by servants. Hannibal has probably had enough of perfumes and cloying fragrances to cover up the scent of blood and sweat and death. Of people fawning at him and falling to his feet, begging for mercy. He might appreciate something a little more genuine.

The feast is more like a coronation than a surrender. Hannibal and his entourage arrive just as the sun disappears behind the mountains, painting the sky a bloody orange and a deep, rich blue towards the top.

He looks the part. He's tall, strong, stern-faced, with sharp features. He's older than Will anticipated, though of course, not that old; conquerors in his mind are young and bull-like, or frail and good at making the bulls do their bidding for them. Hannibal looks like the kind of man who _should_ rule the world.

He has a leather breastplate, a giant two-handed broadsword tied to a belt around his waist, a tunic hanging to halfway down his thighs. Sturdy-looking leather boots, and leggings to shield him from the cold and the chafe of his saddle. His hair is cut short, streaked with ash and bronze, his skin much darker than any of the courtiers in Mason's castle. Pallor is likened to wealth in these parts; only the farmers and poor spend so much time in the sun.

He's breathtaking. And so are the rest of his people; at his side is a slim woman, fine-boned, hair black as a raven and cut short to frame her face, her armor black and form-fitting. With him are two other men, both of them tall and cut in the way of seasoned soldiers. One of them has a scar on his lip, the other has very dark skin and short, black hair.

Mason comes forward with Margot, Alana tucked close to her side with a pitcher of wine and a tray of glasses, and throws his arms out wide in greeting. "Hail, Hannibal the Conqueror!" he crows, with that too-sweet smile baring his fangs. At Hannibal's side, the dark-skinned man leans in and whispers something to him, and Hannibal nods, though his eyes don't leave Mason for a moment. It's like watching two dogs stare each other down, but one of them is powerful and fearless, the other mangey and trembling. "Welcome to our fine city. Please, have a seat, have some wine."

The dark-skinned man continues to whisper. Hannibal's eyes flash, and his gaze runs in a semi-circle around the room, expression impassive as he takes in the tables piled high with offerings of food and drink, the courtiers all sitting prim and proper and stinking of nerves. Then, to behind Mason, where his throne sits, and the gathering of Omegas Will is with.

Their eyes meet, for a brief moment, and then Hannibal moves on.

He speaks, in his own language, and then the dark-skinned man steps forward with a smile so wide and blinding that Will can't help but stare. "You are a gracious host, Lord Verger," he says, and Will hides a smile at the flicker of aggravation that passes over Mason's face, at being referred to as merely a Lord. "My name is Tobias, and this is Francis and Chiyoh. We are happy to be here."

Mason smiles, quickly recovering himself. "And we are happy to have you," he says, and Tobias turns back to Hannibal. Will realizes, then, that he is acting as a translator. Strange; does Hannibal not even know their language? "Come, please, sit! We will make merry, and talk of what comes next."

Hannibal nods once Tobias is done translating for them, and turns to the woman – Chiyoh – and murmurs something to her. She smiles at him and nods, and she and Francis go to the tables of food, while Tobias and Hannibal accept wine from Alana and allow themselves to be herded closer to the throne, where there is a table for Mason and Margot to sit with them.

For a while, the evening passes without any excitement. Will's fellow Omegas begin to disperse, making their normal rounds flirting with and entertaining the courtiers. Will himself keeps close to the feast table, picking at the food and listening to Francis and Chiyoh speak in the hopes he might discover what language they use.

His mother taught him a few, before he died, mostly those that belong to their neighbors. Will is sure if he were to attempt speaking any of them his accent would be atrocious, but if there's one way to win an Alpha's favor, it's to present them with something familiar, and nothing says home like a mother tongue.

He waits, for the inevitable; "Hannibal, my new friend, I insist that you partake in every pleasure I can offer you." Will perks up, tilting his head and listening without making it obvious. "Any Omega you see is yours, for as long as you desire. Several of them are untouched, all of them eager to meet you."

Will hides a smile.

"Do you have a physical preference?" Mason asks. "I'm sure we can find you something."

Will looks up, to gauge Hannibal's reaction. He, still, has no change in his expression, though there is a darkness in his eyes that Will thinks is probably more to do with being around Mason than any specific displeasure. Mason has that effect on people.

Hannibal speaks, and Tobias translates; "A gracious offer, Lord Verger. You seem to have so many Omegas on hand."

Mason laughs. "Alas, I am a romantic at heart, and cannot possibly use them myself," he says. Will swallows, stifling a snarl. _Liar_. "But my predecessor kept them in scores, and they know no other life. It would be cruel to throw them out on the streets where anything might happen to them."

Hannibal's head tilts. His eyes narrow. Will likes to think that he knows Mason is full of shit.

Then, Hannibal turns, looking around the room. Will goes still, not wanting to draw untoward attention to himself; he knows Hannibal will see him eventually. He sighs, licking meat juice from his fingers, 'absently' petting over the back of his neck.

He knows the second Hannibal sees him. Feels his gaze sharpen like a hunting cat with prey in its sights. Hannibal stands, and Will turns away like he hasn't noticed, leaning against the table and picking a roll of bread into tiny bite-sized pieces. He eats, feeling Hannibal prowl closer to him.

Then, away. Will frowns, but doesn't let himself show that he noticed. He sees in his periphery as Hannibal goes to Franklyn, the Omega immediately stiffening and turning his wide eyes up to the Alpha. Will's upper lip curls back – he supposes he can't judge Hannibal for his taste. Franklyn is eager enough, and sweet, though talkative. Certainly the stereotype; he'd probably drop to his knees the second Hannibal touched him.

Hannibal doesn't touch him. Tobias translates for him, and they exchange a few words, before Hannibal gives a nod, as though deciding something, and moves on. Will takes another bite of bread to hide his smile at Franklyn's crestfallen look.

Then Hannibal's eyes are on him again. This time Will does look; meets his gaze steadily. Arches a brow, like he hasn't been listening. Like he doesn't know exactly what Hannibal is assessing him for. He crosses one ankle over the other, the slit of his silks revealing his thigh, rolls his shoulders and takes another bite of bread.

Hannibal's head tilts.

He approaches.

Will bows his head, because he's not stupid, and Hannibal is still a man worthy of respect, and his sword is very much in swinging distance. "My Lord," he greets.

Tobias smiles from Hannibal's shoulder. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Will," Will replies, lifting his gaze to the crest branded into Hannibal's breastplate. He swallows, tilting his head away so show his neck and pretending he does it so he can put his half-eaten bread roll down on a free space. He shifts his weight, letting the silk fall back into place; he's got his lure out, now. Just needs to wait for a bite.

Hannibal speaks, and Will blinks as he realizes that he _does_ recognize that language. It's one of the Eastern dialects, which makes sense, since Hannibal is from there. They share a few words in common, and Will remembers enough from his mother to recognize the words.

"You're quite a bit older than the others."

Will waits until Tobias is done translating. No sense giving away the whole gambit too soon. "I served the King before," he replies with a small shrug. "My mother before me."

"'Served'? In what way?"

"His companion, my Lord," Will says. "King Crawford was mated before I was born."

Hannibal blinks in surprise. His fingers curl at his side, before he lifts his hand, moving to touch Will's face and make their eyes meet.

Will's hand snaps out, wrapping tight around his leather bracer. He knows he's being watched; Francis and Chiyoh have gone silent, Tobias is stiff. He could cut the tension in the air with a knife.

But Hannibal looks more amused than anything else.

"Forgive me, my Lord," Will says, using his language. Hannibal's eyes widen, and he huffs another sound, this one surprised and amused all at once. Happily shocked. "By law, no one but my master can lay a hand on me."

Hannibal tilts his head, and after a moment, turns and bids Tobias leave them alone. "You speak my language," he says.

"Awfully, I'm sure," Will replies with a self-deprecating grin. "But yes."

"Your accent isn't terrible," Hannibal tells him with a small smile. He's at his most emotive yet, a new darkness and warmth in his eyes. "Did the King teach you?"

Will scoffs. "No. My mother did."

Hannibal nods. "I understand the law, Will. You may release me; I will not touch you." Will nods, and lets Hannibal's arm go, both of their hands falling back to their sides. "But I feel I must tell you that your King has given me the honor of choosing one of his 'companions', for as long as I desire." His head tilts. "What does your law say about that?"

Will lifts his chin. "I am loyal to whoever sits on the throne," he says. Hannibal's eyes flash, he lets out a small, intrigued noise. "Are you here to take it?"

"I am," Hannibal murmurs.

Will smiles. "Then you must," he purrs. Hannibal's eyes move from his, to that very throne, and darken in obvious desire. Alphas crave power so fiercely, like a dragon with its hoard of gold.

Then, Hannibal meets his gaze again. "Are you so eager to see your King displaced?"

Will sighs. "My King is fair and wise," he says, as cheerfully as he's able, though Hannibal's cheeks bulge with a faint smile that makes it feel like they're sharing an inside joke. "But in his wisdom, he has welcomed you into the castle to settle things between our nations. If I can help in any way, I want to."

"By giving yourself to a brute and a stranger."

Will tilts his head, lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "A stranger, yes. A brute? I think not." Hannibal blinks at him, brow creasing. "War brings necessary sacrifices, but…." He hesitates, and adds; "I heard tell that you killed a man who assaulted a servant."

Hannibal lets out another huff of pleasure. "Have you heard many things about me?"

"No, my Lord, but what I have heard interests me greatly."

Hannibal hums. "It is true," he says. "I did."

"Then, perhaps it is my inexperience and own youthful foolishness…." He shrugs, shakes his head, makes his smile sheepish and shy, lets his cheeks color in a demure display. He sucks in a breath, like he's embarrassed to speak; "There are worse things than trusting a man who would defend and avenge someone who had been hurt like that."

"I would have rather prevented it at all," Hannibal tells him, his voice abruptly going quiet. Wistful. Will lifts his eyes, and Hannibal rolls his shoulders, correcting himself. "It is a type of violence that offends me greatly. In that respect, I suppose you are right; I am preferable to your King."

Will smiles. "Now, my Lord, do you expect me to commit treason on our first meeting?" he teases, earning another one of Hannibal's faint smiles. His eyes are warm, just finely threaded with Alpha red, the rest of his iris a lovely mix of brown and amber.

"No," Hannibal says, soft with amusement. "I suppose not."

His head tilts, and Will presses his lips together, petting over his neck again.

"And what if I were to go to your King, right this moment, and take my sword and remove his head from his shoulders?"

Will laughs, unable to help himself. "Then you would be a terrible treaty negotiator."

Hannibal blinks at him, and his smile is so wide and sudden, revealing his sharp teeth, his pronounced fangs. Will shivers at the sight of them, his fingers curling against his neck.

"I suppose, then, if I am to earn your regard, I should make good on my promise."

Will blinks, eyes widening. Is Hannibal going to -?

"Come," Hannibal says, and gestures for Will to follow. Will does, watching in disbelief as Hannibal calls for Tobias and speaks to him, and then Tobias calls the attention of everyone gathered with a loud cry. Chiyoh and Francis ascend the stairs with Hannibal, towards the throne.

Will comes to a halt beside Mason, the Alpha glaring up at Will with outrage, and Will shakes his head helplessly.

"I tire of negotiations," Tobias echoes when Hannibal speaks in his mother tongue. "We all know why I am here, and I see no need to waste time with frivolity." Hannibal comes to a stop in front of the throne, gazing out at everyone gathered. "Anyone who wishes to stand against me will do so now, for after this moment, any resistance will be treason."

There is nothing. Death-like silence.

Hannibal smiles, and sits on the throne, settling into it with a sigh.

Tobias grins, and gestures up to him. "Hail, King Hannibal the Conqueror!"

After a moment of hesitation, there is a soft susurrus, a building, echoing chorus. One by one, all the courtiers stand, and bow to their knees, lowering their heads in submission. "Hail, King Hannibal! Long may he reign!"

Will's eyes are wide, and he looks up to the throne, to see Hannibal smiling at him. He holds out his hand, and Will swallows, and goes to him. "You may be the first Omega to ever serve three Kings in his lifetime," he says, the words a low purr.

Will shivers, and falls to his knees. He takes Hannibal's hand in both his own and kisses his palm. "Long may you reign, Your Majesty," he whispers. Hannibal's eyes shine with pleasure, his hand curls in Will's hair and pets it from his face. Will can feel Mason's outraged glare on the back of his neck, feel the shock of the rest of them on him, at seeing him kneel at the feet of the new King.

And he cannot deny a very large, starving part of him is _exhilarated_. The last domino fell because he gave it a nudge. Hannibal is here, and took the throne with no regard for a peace treaty or negotiation, simply because he wanted to touch Will as soon as possible.

It's a powerful feeling. He likes it, a lot.

It will be a shame to kill Hannibal, and he must, eventually, or else earn Mason and his loyalists' wrath. But for now he basks in it, in the heat of Hannibal's wide smile and the gentle brush of strong fingers through his hair, making him shiver.

He stands, once the chorus ends, and bows his head. "Would you like some wine, Your Majesty?" he asks.

"Thank you, Will, yes." Will nods, and turns, but Hannibal catches him at the wrist and makes him halt. Their eyes meet, and Will knows that look on an Alpha; it's obvious, anticipation and desire and the high of a sweet victory. "And," he adds, "please. I insist you call me by name."

Will smiles, his stomach growing heavy and warm, and though he is used to being in a perpetual state of down-dress, and does not feel the cold, Hannibal's gaze makes him so aware of how exposed he is. He shivers, biting his lower lip, and gives Hannibal another gracious nod.

"As you wish, Hannibal."


	2. Chapter 2

Life as the new King's chosen concubine is startling in its newness, if only for the fact that very little changes at all. Will is still only given enough clothes to barely retain his modesty, he still has free reign of the Omega parts of the castle, he still spends most of his time in the nesting halls and the court.

The only marked change, now, is that he sleeps in the King's bedchambers. He watches with an arched brow as servants bring in a separate bed for him – it's his normal bed, from the nesting halls. His upper lip twitches as he sees the mess they've made of his carefully-built nest. It'll take hours to get right again.

"You're displeased," Hannibal notes, head tilting. He's sitting at Mason's writing desk, and unlike Mason, seems to be making actual use of it. Will hasn't met a soldier who can write before.

Will instantly corrects his expression, makes his smile wide and welcoming, leans against the large carved bedpost at the foot of his master's bed and gives him a charming, teasing look. "My Lord," he purrs, laughing, "I'm merely surprised. I thought my standing in the castle and my day to day life would be more changed."

Hannibal hums, his smile giving little away.

"I'd argue it is," he replies coolly, brows lifting to mimic Will's. "You are now mine, just as the rest of your kin and your people and everyone in this land are mine."

Will presses his lips together, turns his expression into a playfully exasperated look. He steps closer to Hannibal, ignoring the grunts of the workers as they settle his nest at the King's bedside. Hannibal reaches for him, as he is so fond of doing, and curls a hand around the back of Will's thigh.

"I thought I would be yours in… _more_ intimate ways," he murmurs, cupping Hannibal's chin. "To spread and bed as you see fit."

Hannibal's eyes flash, and Will realizes his misstep immediately. "I gave myself to you," he continues, seeking to soothe. His fingers brush gently over Hannibal's jaw, curling so his knuckles touch Hannibal's smooth skin. It's odd, Will expected a man like this to be callused and rough all over, with battle wounds and scars and abrasions. From what he has seen, what he has touched, Hannibal could be another court slave for how smooth he is.

"At the behest of your previous master," Hannibal counters. Still, despite his words and aloof tone, his hand is wide and warm around Will's thigh, and skates down to the back of his knee, compelling Will to bend and press closer. "I was rash. You've put me in an impossible position."

Will tilts his head, and ignores the little thrill that runs through him at having Hannibal admit his influence so readily. "How so?"

"I cannot bed you while you are a slave. You are trained to appear eager and willing, but can never properly consent. And if I freed you, you would leave, or be so grateful that you felt obligated to stay with me anyway, and I find no pleasure in that."

Will hums. "That is an impossible position, then," he murmurs. "I suppose I can only be your friend, and hope that your affection for me grows to match mine for you."

Hannibal tilts his head, turns to nuzzle Will's wrist. "Your affection for me?" he echoes, and laughs. "I cannot imagine it has grown so much. We have known each other scarcely a week."

Will smiles, eyes raking over Hannibal's face. It's true, it has been only six days since Hannibal claimed the throne and took the Kingdom for himself. Six days of feeling Mason's venomous stare at his back, seeing Cordell hovering around every corner – for Hannibal is not the kind of man who slaughters the old and replaces them with the new. No, his control is more fine-tuned than that. He plasters himself upon his new land like a coat of paint upon a wall; fresh and eye-catching and a welcome change of pace while he rebuilds the foundations.

But Will also cannot deny that he genuinely _likes_ Hannibal. He has not been far from the man's side since Hannibal claimed him, and what he has seen, he has found so interesting, so captivating. Hannibal is nothing like what he expected; yes, he is fierce and powerful and commanding, but he is also incredibly mild-mannered, intelligent, and controlled. Such a dichotomy in any Alpha, let alone a King and conqueror.

Will does not think he would mind sharing a bed with the man. Hannibal's touch is always pleasant, he has never once raised his voice or his hand to anyone, Will included, that he has seen. Perhaps he doesn't need to. Maybe he will never need to, until someone steps out of line.

Besides, bedding an Alpha is a quick and easy way to get them to lower their guard, and Will is not stupid – Mason may be dethroned but he has loyalists and schemes and he knows the castle as well as Will. Will cannot afford to fail his mission.

Hannibal sighs, when Will can offer no answer, and releases him, gently nudging him out of the way so Hannibal can stand. "If your bed displeases you, make any changes you would like," he says with a small smile. "I want you to be comfortable."

Will breathes out sharply, but keeps his expression as pleasant as he can. The light in Hannibal's eyes suggests it's an attempt made in vain. "And where are you going?" Will asks him when Hannibal dons the King's robes, a rich purple that highlights the pretty tan of his skin and the red in his eyes. The crown, too, fits him much better than it ever did Mason.

"I must meet with my advisors, to discuss the next steps in ensuring this Kingdom's continued prosperity," Hannibal replies. He gathers his parchments and tucks the roll under his arm, looking for a moment so much like a scholar that Will's throat hurts when he must stop himself laughing. "In fact, there is a matter where your insight would be invaluable. Would you like to join me?"

"My Lord, I'd be delighted," Will replies with a bow of his head. The longer he spends around Hannibal, the more time he has to imprint himself upon the man, to earn his favor and his trust, so that Will can strike. Omegas have limitless capabilities when it comes to manipulation; that is the worst-kept secret in the world. Alphas that are blind to it are mere brutes who believe the only solution to things is teeth and snarls.

Hannibal's eyes flash, his brows rise. "Did you forget my name so soon?" he asks. Will blinks, and shakes his head, lets his voice grow soft like the intimacy of his own confession startles him.

"Hannibal," he says, and must admit he quite likes the way the name sounds, the way the 'H' is so pronounced, the curl of it on his tongue. Even further, he likes the way Hannibal seems to soften upon hearing it. "Forgive me."

It occurs to him, in that moment, that until Will gets out of the habit of calling Hannibal 'Lord' or 'King', he might never convince the man of his willingness. Whores and concubines serve a King. A true companion, an eager mate, calls their lover by name.

"It's a habit I will try my best to break," Will adds, when Hannibal merely nods in acceptance. He circles Will and walks towards the door, and Will follows him, past the workers and out into the cool stone hallway. "Do you truly hate being called 'Lord' so much?"

"I do not like being called something I am not," Hannibal replies mildly. "I am not a Lord, I am not high-born, especially not from your land. In similar ways, other unjust titles given to me cause the same offense."

Will hums, brow creasing in confusion. "You are not high-born?" he asks at Hannibal's elbow, and receives another shake of his head. "But you speak so well, and you can write."

Hannibal smiles, just a ghost of it. "Everyone in my country can write, Will." He pauses, then, as though a thought has just occurred to him. "Can you?"

"Yes, but only because my mother taught me," Will replies. "The late King Crawford insisted everyone in the castle knew how to read and write. It is more difficult to twist the written word when it comes to important messages, or rumors and speculation."

"Not impossible, but yes," Hannibal agrees, and keeps walking. He talks like someone intimately aware of just how terribly rumors can be spread.

They pass the nesting halls, the sweet fragrance of the perfumes the Omegas use wafting from the open door. Hannibal pauses in front of them, his nostrils flaring, and Will stops as well, head tilted as he takes in the scents. His eyes are on Hannibal, and he watches a subtle flare of red pass through Hannibal's iris, a tension in his shoulders that is an Alpha reacting to the scent of an in-heat Omega.

"That's Franklyn," Will tells him, and Hannibal's eyes snap to his own, for a moment so wild that Will resists the urge to take a step back. Hannibal looks two seconds away from lunging for him.

He knows how to calm that desire in Hannibal's eyes, and feels cruel and sharp-edged when he murmurs; "Shall I fetch him for you, my Lord?"

It works. Hannibal's expression clears and his lips turn down in a subtle frown. He jerks his head, huffing through his nose, and continues on at a brisk pace. Will doesn't like to think the emotion he's feeling is smug, but he's a liar – it is. Hannibal might be a mission, but he is _Will's_ mission, and Will isn't going to let any other Omega _near_ the man. Omegas are possessive and greedy and Will is better, he caught this animal for himself and he'll be damned if he loses it to another hunter.

Though, he thinks with a laugh, calling Franklyn a hunter would be the same as comparing a kitten to a lioness.

They reach the Council chambers, and Hannibal draws Will up to a halt, fixing him with a dark gaze before they enter. There is something considering in his eyes, a curious creature peering upon something new it has not seen, has not smelled before. He hums. "You are very perceptive, aren't you, Will?"

"I try to be," Will replies. "It's important to always be aware of others, Hannibal. Ignorance gets you killed in a place like this."

"I wonder, then, if I am so ignorant, why you choose to remain with me," Hannibal replies. "When a King dies, it is often those closest to him who meet the executioner's axe soon after."

"I suppose I will have to educate you, then," Will says with a smile. "I'm growing rather fond of you; I would like to keep you alive for some time."

At that, Hannibal smiles. "You are a terrible and brazen thing," he says, and Will cannot deny it. He needs Hannibal to think of him like that; tempting and teasing and willing, and altogether unthreatening. He smiles, lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug, and Hannibal hums again, and turns. "Come."

They enter the Council chambers. Chiyoh, Francis, and Tobias are already gathered inside, talking quietly amongst themselves in Hannibal's language. Will can only catch snatches of it, since their voices are so low, and they go silent and rise to their feet when Hannibal approaches them.

Hannibal smiles, and pulls out a chair for Will next to Chiyoh, bidding them all sit while Hannibal takes a seat at the head of the table, in Mason's chair, and sets his scrolls down. Will is opposite Francis, Tobias at Francis' side on Hannibal's right hand, Chiyoh on his left next to Will. Francis gazes at Will curiously, but they all must be used to their Lord's whims, for none of them seem particularly surprised to find Will here.

"Francis," Hannibal begins. "Tell me, what have you heard?"

"For the most part, little, Hannibal," Francis replies. Will blinks, surprised to hear Francis call Hannibal by name. What a strange land they all must hail from, to be so familiar with their Lord and master. "There are a few whispers of disquiet, but nothing abnormal."

Hannibal nods.

"The soldiers are happy there was not more bloodshed," Chiyoh supplies. "And the townspeople seem eager to see what kind of King they have now."

Tobias nods. "The courtiers, too. I daresay Lord Verger was not as well-loved as he would have liked to believe."

Hannibal's lips purse, and he nods. "Yes, I sensed that as well," he says, and shares a single, knowing look with Will. "This Kingdom is much like the one we first conquered. In that vein, I'd like to suggest we enact the same policies as we did before." He meets Will's eyes again, and gives him a smile. "Will, I'd appreciate your insight."

"Tell me, Hannibal, and I will advise you as best I can," Will says, leaning in.

"The first Kingdom we took was ruled by Emperor Chilton," Hannibal tells him. Will vaguely recognizes the name, but knows little more. "He kept slaves, much like Lord Verger has. When we had secured the Kingdom, we commanded that every slave be freed, with the option to be bought back into more appropriate service. With pay, enough to live separately from their master, or with lodging and a stipend should they remain."

Will's brow creases. A lot of the words are foreign to him, and he waits patiently as Tobias, seeing his confusion, repeats Hannibal's words in his native tongue. But then his frown merely deepens. "You…freed _everyone_?" he asks. It seems like such a foreign concept to him; serving his master for the privilege of a comfortable life, for room and board, seemed as natural as breathing. "There are thousands of slaves in the capitol alone, Hannibal. You would free them all?"

"It is my intention," Hannibal replies. "I detest the notion of slavery. However, I understand that every economy is different, and there are some places that cannot stomach such a radical change so swiftly. To that end, I'd ask your advice."

Tobias translates for him again, and before Will can reply, Hannibal adds; "Even if the rest of the classes come in shifts, that we can accommodate. I do, however, intend to free every slave in the castle first."

Every slave. From kitchen boy to concubine. Will's eyes are wide with disbelief. Oh, Mason will be _furious_. And even when Will succeeds, it will be chaos and carnage when he brings back the slaves. He will chase every Omega freed, hunt down every member of staff that chose to leave. Probably force those who did have a salary to pay it all back, because he's a greedy son of a bitch like that.

And yet, Hannibal's words echo; he will not touch Will unless Will comes to him as a free man. To get close enough, to do what he needs to do, he must agree.

Hannibal's eyes are black and fixed on him, so heavy Will cannot hold his gaze. He looks down at his hands, fingers curling, and, for the first time, feels so vastly out of his depth.

"It is a generous decision, Hannibal," he says quietly. "Many would be grateful for it."

"Yes, I'm sure they would be, but that isn't what I asked," Hannibal replies. "What are your thoughts on it?"

Will swallows, and says; "Selfish ones."

Hannibal smiles, like a cat that has finally caught the trail of a particularly elusive mouse. "Tell me."

"There are many, I daresay every slave in this land, who do not understand what it means to be free. The risk of being taken advantage of is high."

Hannibal nods in understanding. "We normally draw up contracts by trade," he says, gesturing to Francis and Tobias. "Every worker gets a standard salary according to their position and skill. At the same time, houses are evaluated for the suitability of their servants."

"A huge endeavor," Will murmurs.

"We've done it before," Tobias says with a winning smile.

"You will make a lot of the nobility very upset," Will continues, and when Hannibal's head tilts, he adds; "They control the laymen, Hannibal, and they hold most of the soldiers and the horses, the land, the harvests. Upset them and you risk crippling the capitol of supplies."

Hannibal hums in consideration, sitting back in his chair. "That is true," he concedes. The way he says it tells Will there's more to this than he can see; Hannibal must have experience with uprisings, having conquered so many in so short a time.

"I can only say that, should you succeed, I know a lot of the slaves will be forever grateful for it," Will says. He forces himself to meet Hannibal's eyes. "And they will be loyal to you for such a gracious gift."

Hannibal's eyes gleam, and Will knows that's exactly what he wants.

"Thank you, Will," he says gently. "If you'd like, you may go. I can't imagine matters of court will entertain you much."

Will presses his lips together, but knows he's being dismissed. He wants to linger, to hear what Hannibal and his Council have planned, but he must not attract too much suspicion. He smiles, instead, as charming as he can be, and rises with another bow. "My Lords, my Lady," he says, and leaves the room. As soon as the door shuts behind him, he leans against it, breathing out heavily.

He can't allow this to happen. Yes, being freed would be…wonderful. He thinks. He honestly doesn't know; there is so much in the wide world he has often wished he was able to see, but he cannot possibly commit himself to that course when Mason still lives. As long as he is alive, Will must continue with his mission.

He is loyal to the lawful King, and while Hannibal is surprisingly kind and gentle and fair, he is not the lawful King.

He has to distract Hannibal. Now. Before he can put these new laws in place and throw everything into chaos. It's a faster and hastier move than he had planned, but he is nothing if not adaptable.

He hurries, then, to Mason's doctor. Sutcliffe is one of those practical men who will do just about anything for a large enough bag of gold, and Will, as one of Mason's concubines and members of the castle, can promise any- and everything to see his medicines made. The Crown's pockets are deep and Mason is a generous patron of the sciences.

He rushes up to the high tower where Doctor Sutcliffe works, finds the man bent over a boiling decanter of brownish liquid. It smells awful, like burning honey and dead flesh, and his nose wrinkles, and he breathes through his mouth.

Sutcliffe blinks at him in surprise at his sudden entrance, and straightens. "Yes?" he asks.

"You know who I am?" Will replies, coming closer.

"I do," Sutcliffe replies. His head tilts curiously, eyes taking Will in with an overly long once-over. Will forces himself not to shiver, not to try covering himself. It would be useless.

"I need you to make something for me," Will says. "By the King's order."

"Which King?" Sutcliffe counters.

Will smiles, wide and sharp. "Whichever King will make you work fastest."

Sutcliffe's eyes flash, and he purses his lips. "What can I make for you?"

"I need something that will send me into heat," Will tells him. "I am not due for another month, but I must go into heat now. Can you do it?"

Sutcliffe hums. "Yes," he says, after a moment of consideration and a slow nod. "I think I can. Return at nightfall and I will have it for you."

Will bows his head in thanks.

Sutcliffe eyes him, and his smile is just on the wrong side of hungry. "Shall I inform anyone?"

Will arches a brow. "Whomever you'd like," he replies sharply. It will be no secret, after all, not once he has enacted his plan. He is sure Hannibal desires him, that he will not leave Will to suffer alone should Will go into heat in his bed. It will be enough of a distraction to delay his plans, and if Will is lucky, he will be able to kill the usurper and put everything right in the world. He will reap his reward, and perhaps even have a few enjoyable days in his memory to keep him warm once Hannibal is gone.

Sutcliffe nods, his smile far too wide for Will's liking. "Return at nightfall, lovely boy," he purrs, and Will's stomach clenches in revulsion. "I will see it done."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will is truly embodying his 'yeet' characteristic in this fic isn't he.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new rating!

Will supposes he shouldn't have been surprised that, come nightfall, when it is time to return to Sutcliffe and collect his prize, Mason is there, both of the Alphas waiting for him.

Mason's demeanor has grown blacker and more vitriolic these last days, as time has passed and still Will has not brought him Hannibal's head. He can't even manage his normal over-sweet smile when Will enters the room, though his eyes flash and shine with the usual cruelty.

"Will," he purrs, and beckons Will closer. Will goes, bowing his head in deference, his fingers curling up by his sides as Mason pulls him closer by the hip and grips tightly. Not at all like Hannibal's wide, warm touches. Sutcliffe is holding a bottle in his hands, a dark blue, opaque glass, with a cork sealing it. "Pretty thing, what are you up to?"

"I intend to go into heat."

"Yes, I've gathered that much," Mason replies, brow arching. "I can't help but wonder about your intentions. Has this foreign brute seduced you so easily, that you're wanting to give him what you have never offered me?"

Will's jaw clenches, but he doesn't comment on that; he's too old for Mason's taste, that has always been abundantly clear, but he doesn't think it beyond Mason to muster up some lust in the name of cruelty. "Of course not, Your Majesty," he replies, fixing Mason with a charming smile. "But if I'm to get as close to the usurper as I need to be, and get him to lower his guard, I must do something drastic."

"Hah! So immune to your wiles, is he?" Mason says, laughing.

"He has proven resistant, yes," Will admits. "But not immune."

Mason tilts his head. "What do you mean by that?"

"He doesn't enjoy the idea of mounting me without my consent," Will says, and gestures to the bottle. "If I go into heat, he will have to admit that his affection for me has spurred my own reaction. It is as close to convincing him as I can manage in so short a time." He sighs through his nose, ignoring how Mason is kneading at his hip.

"I admire your eagerness," Mason says coolly.

"Forgive me for saying so, Your Majesty, but is this slave not a virgin?" Sutcliffe asks, brows risen high as he fixes Will with a distasteful look. "If we wish to distract the usurper thoroughly, we cannot send him some untried boy."

"He's the one Hannibal chose," Mason replies, shrugging. "I have no say in his tastes. Yes, I would have rather he chosen someone a little more…conventional, but it is what it is."

Conventional. Another word for weak, obedient, someone who would be on his knees right now begging for Mason's pity and grace. Will's stomach rolls with anger, and he forces himself to say nothing.

"Perhaps we should put him through his paces, regardless," Sutcliffe suggests.

Will barks out a hard, scornful laugh. "If you ruin me now, Hannibal will smell it, and you'll force me to take more circular measures to earn his trust. He knows I will not let anyone but my master touch me." He gestures to where Mason is gripping him, as proof.

"But if you fail -."

"Yes," Will mutters. He knows the consequences of his failure. They are only slightly worse than the promised reward of his success. Yes, being a Queen – or at least Mason's chosen companion, he shouldn't get ahead of himself – comes with its perks, but being the whore of the King is not one of them. Not this particular King, in any case. "And all his men and their horses. Throw your name in the hat, Doctor, you may get your chance with me yet."

Mason hummed, eyes gleaming. "Does Hannibal enjoy that cutting wit so much?"

"I will make him enjoy my tongue, cutting or not," Will replies. He holds out his hand for the potion. "I am not completely naïve, your Majesty. Virgin or not, I grew up in the harems; I know what I must do to see you back in your rightful place."

Finally, Mason releases him, humming and pushing himself to his feet. "Give him his potion, Doctor," he commands, and though Sutcliffe's expression is sour, lips pressed thin in displeasure, he obeys. "I hope to hear word of the usurper's distraction very soon. His death, quickly following."

He grabs Will's chin tightly, forces their eyes to meet, and smiles wide and sharp. "Don't let him get you pregnant, lovely boy. I would hate to have to cut it out of you."

With that, he leaves, and Will has to control every muscle in his body not to send a glare to his retreating back. Sutcliffe stands, and gestures to the bottle in his hands. "Drink all of it," he says. "The effects will take a few hours, but by morning you should be in the same state of a natural-born heat. If you are not, come back to me, and I will give you another dose."

"Thank you," Will says with another nod. He uncorks the bottle, taking a cautious inhale. It smells sweet, like wine, herbal like medicine; overly saturated with cloves and reminiscent of blackberries that grow along the ocean, a little saltier for the sea's flavor in the water that nourishes them.

He tips the bottle back, drinking all of it, and hands it back to Sutcliffe once it's empty, grimacing at the aftertaste. Sutcliffe takes the bottle, and Will gives him one last nod of thanks, before he takes his leave.

Hannibal seems to prefer eating alone. He takes his meals in his private rooms, away from his advisors. Will, since he moved in with Hannibal, has started sharing meals with him, both of them consuming the evening meal with soft conversation, Will doing his best to engage Hannibal's mind since Hannibal will not allow him to entertain them both carnally.

Tonight is no exception. They dine on salted pork and grapes, thick bread rolls with raspberry jam, and that sweet wine Hannibal seems to favor. Will isn't sure how much of the potion's effects are being felt truly, or simply his head anticipating the coming sensations and giving him phantom symptoms, but he feels light and heavy all at once, his hands trembling around his bites of bread, his goblet of wine.

Hannibal notices. His head tilts and Will watches him as he tentatively breathes in. His eyes darken, and Will goes tense, but Hannibal does not reach for him. His fingers curl on his thigh, like he's doing his best not to.

"When was your last heat, Will?" he asks, casually. Overly-calm.

"Three months ago," Will lies, knowing Hannibal will know the heat cycles in Omegas. Every three months they lose a week to their insatiable drive to breed. The only blessing is that Omegas do not sync up with each other; he's sure the stench of heat from the nesting halls would drive the entire castle to distraction if they were to all happen at once. And it makes no sense, for a King to take so many concubines and be unable to sate them all.

Hannibal hums. His brow creases. "Then you are due soon," he says.

Will nods, taking another bite of meat. "I must be," he confesses. "But it rarely sneaks up on me. I am blessed to have never known an Alpha, and have never been courted." He smiles. "No one to trigger some drastic and immediate change."

Hannibal's head tilts, eyes darkening further. He has planted the thought; if Hannibal convinces himself that _he_ triggered Will's heat, it will cement the idea in his head that Will wants him. His body, unable to help itself, will grow warm and wet for his Alpha, to entice him near.

Hannibal's eyes fall away, to where Will has managed to salvage his ruined nest into something resembling what it used to be. He incorporated Hannibal's bed into parts of it, so their scents would merge, and so that his nest cannot retain its shape without the bed and his master's blankets to keep it upright.

Will swallows, and says, "Are you going to send me away, when it comes?" He makes his voice soft, and worried; hurt, in anticipation of Hannibal's rejection. "I know your thoughts on bedding a slave."

"Yes," Hannibal murmurs, in that way men do when they curse their own morals. Will hides his smile into a drink of wine. "But you have heard my intentions; you will not be a slave for long."

Will shivers. "I suppose not."

"And what will you do, once you are freed?" Hannibal asks. There is another question behind his eyes, some hopeful thing Will doesn't want to destroy. It is strange, to look at an Alpha and not feel some combination of dread or resignation. Will knew that there was always the possibility, one day, that King Crawford would decide to bed him, or that Mason would be just bored or curious enough to take him to his rooms and mount him. Or, even, that a guard or courtier or soldier would ask for a night with him as some kind of reward. Or not even ask; simply take it, damn the consequences.

Hannibal is the first Alpha he's ever met that Will _wants_ to be around, and isn't that just a novel feeling all on its own?

"Truthfully, Hannibal, I don't know," Will replies quietly. He meets his master's eyes. "When I was younger, I thought I might travel, and see the world. Then I thought I might stay here, but move out into the city and make an honest living as a fisherman or apprentice." He huffs a laugh, shakes his head. "Now, I am changed again. I don't know what I would do." He pauses, makes it looks like hesitation, a soft admittance; "I find that life in the castle is more attractive to me than ever, these days."

Hannibal smiles, the lines around his mouth and eyes smoothing. "May I take credit for that?"

"You should; it's yours," Will says.

Hannibal sighs, and breaks their gazes first. Surprisingly. It's thrilling to watch Hannibal think; he is clearly very intelligent, and observes people as closely as Will does. They are two dogs in neighboring houses that peer at each other through the windows, tails wagging slowly, wondering if there is a friend there on the other side.

"It's your decision, Will," Hannibal finally says, his free hand fidgeting before he closes his fingers around his goblet and drinks. "If you choose to stay with me, then you choose to stay with me. If you leave, then you leave."

Will's brow creases. "For my heat?" he asks.

"For anything," Hannibal tells him, their eyes meeting again, briefly, before he looks away. "Consider yourself free, from this moment. I will have the contract written, signed with a witness, in the morning. But you are free."

The tremor that runs through Will might be an effect of the potion, or it might be from himself. He can't be sure, but it's powerful and makes every inch of him feel warm. "Thank you, Hannibal," he whispers, surprised at how tight his throat gets, how fiercely he feels his gratitude. Even when Mason returns to the throne and Will is once again a slave, it means something to him, to be a free man if only for a few days.

Hannibal smiles at him, assuredness returning in the wake of Will's shaken delight. "It's my pleasure, Will," he murmurs, eyes dark, voice low. Will presses his lips together, and this time he is the one to break eye contact first, a powerful shiver running through him at the sound of Hannibal's voice. Even when he has been in heat before, no Alpha has affected him as much as Hannibal does.

He swallows tightly, forcing himself to remember the mission, though he finds with each passing moment, each new pulse of his heart, that it's starting to make less and less sense. Hannibal is a better King, a fairer King. A better man, a better Alpha. He would be so much more gracious than Mason could ever dream of being.

He's startled when he feels a touch on his cheek, feather-light, and can't help the soft whine he lets out, lashes fluttering open. Hannibal's thumb brushes over his blushing cheek, his eyes still so dark, but this time with concern.

"Perhaps you should rest," he suggests gently.

Will nods, pushing himself to his feet, his knees so weak they can barely lock. Hannibal stands with him, like he might for a lady of the court, for his Queen, out of respect, and Will shivers again as Hannibal herds him to his nest, waits until Will is safely encased within the soft silks and warm sheets, and covers him with a thick blanket.

"I have some matters to attend to," Hannibal tells him, and Will closes his eyes, nodding. "I'll be back soon."

Will bites his tongue so he doesn't whimper. He merely nods again, and watches as Hannibal smiles at him, and straightens, gathering what's left of their meal and carrying it out of the room.

It's a known fact that the first heat is the worst for an Omega. When Will was sixteen, he went into heat just like every other member of his breed, and remembers how awful it had been; a deep, throbbing need that was never filled, a senseless and directionless desire for weight on his shoulders and teeth in his neck. A haunted, hunted, desperate desire for rough, big hands and a thick knot to plug him full.

Over the years, his heats have not faltered in their severity, though there have been ones where Will was almost lucid for them. He has found that the pre-heat is worse than the actual thing. At least with real heat, his desires and needs can be explained. Pre-heat is just weak, pitiful desperation. A need to touch and be touched, to be held and petted and soothed.

Will wakes with a low-grade fever and slick on his thighs, sticking his sheer clothing and the soft blankets to his body. He's sweating and wet, feels gaping and torn open like he imagines soldiers feel when they suffer a wound in battle. Everything in his shaking body quivers with the need for touch. He wants a hand in his hair, another between his legs, petting him; a low snarling voice in his ear telling him it'll be alright, or maybe whispered hushed, rough commands. Spread his legs, bare his throat, _be good, pretty thing, that's it_.

Hannibal is asleep. He can see the dark shadow of his body in his bed, hear his quiet, even breaths. He whimpers, clawing at his wrists, over the back of his neck, and drags himself out of his nest and onto the wide mattress.

Hannibal stirs; aware of Will's presence, or perhaps just able to smell him. Will collapses on his side in front of his master, panting, the effort of getting close to him almost too much. Heats are meant to drain and soften; what good is an Omega who can outrun his predator? How can he be filled if he is not already so empty?

Will whimpers again, jaw clenching as another powerful tremor runs down his spine. He aches, so fiercely it feels like he's been poisoned; his stomach is cramping, internal muscles fluttering around an absent knot, producing enough slick to ensure even the thickest cock can slide into him easily. His hands are empty, needing to grab. His throat is dry, aching for the blood and sweat of a mate.

It will be difficult to keep a clear enough head to actively seduce, like this, but Will tries. "Hannibal," he whispers in the dark, sure that a directionless cry of 'Alpha' or his Lord, his King, his master, will not be well-met. He reaches out, touches Hannibal's shoulder.

He knows the instant Hannibal wakens. He goes stiff, and lets out a snarl that Will is sure is largely involuntary. He catches Will's wrist and even that touch makes Will gasp, eager body producing a fresh wave of slick that threatens to drown them in Hannibal's bed.

"Hannibal," he whispers again, fingers curling, wrist crushed in Hannibal's tight grip. Hannibal gentles almost immediately, pets down Will's wrist and to his elbow, and Will whimpers again. Presses closer, pleased when Hannibal doesn't pull away.

"How are you in heat so quickly?" Hannibal wonders aloud.

Will smiles, rubbing his cheek against the empty pillow to spread his scent, trembling as, at the sound of Hannibal's voice, another surge of heat slicks his thighs. "I think I was just waiting for your permission," he forces himself to say. "I couldn't -." He stops, breathing in, aching at Hannibal's scent etched into the sheets. The Alpha smells so _good_ , and Will knows he thought that before he took his potion, but now it's impossible to ignore. "Don't send me away. _Please_."

Hannibal presses his nose to Will's wrist, takes a ragged inhale that sends a powerful pulse of want straight into Will's belly. He presses closer still, twisting his hand so he can cup Hannibal's face. In the darkness, Hannibal's face is invisible, swathed in shadow, but the red in his eyes glows bright enough to see.

"I want you," Will breathes, and that, he knows, is true. It's probably more genuine than he realized until this moment. "Just touch me. Please, just touch me."

Hannibal's growl is low, more a sensation than a sound, but it settles in Will's skull like a blanket on his brain, smothering his higher thought. He purrs in answer, and if he were in his right mind, he would be shocked at himself. Will hasn't purred for an Alpha a day in his life.

Hannibal releases his wrist, cradles Will's skull in a gentle hand and pulls him closer. Their foreheads meet, and though Will's entire body is tilted in readiness, Hannibal doesn't kiss him. "Have you ever helped an Omega through their heat?" he whispers.

"Not for years," Hannibal replies. His voice is unsteady, which delights Will as much as it surprises him. "And every one is different."

"I'm afraid I can't help you," Will sighs. "I've never been with an Alpha."

That makes Hannibal's fingers tighten in his hair. Whether that notion pleases Hannibal, or distresses him, the ring of red in his eyes grows thicker.

Pressing his luck, Will adds; "I've never even been kissed."

Oh, that is definitely a pleased snarl. As close as Will is now, intermingled with his own scent, Hannibal's scent grows thick and heavy like a weight on his tongue. Like something to drink down, and Will goes eagerly, sucking in a breath and shivering.

"Will," Hannibal murmurs. His fingers flex in Will's hair, unsure.

Will flattens his hand on Hannibal's chest, finds that his heart is racing. "If I wanted to leave, I would have," he reminds Hannibal. "I come to you as a free man, who admires and loves you. I would rather be nowhere else."

Hannibal's nose nudges against Will's. He sighs, sliding his hand to cup Will's face tenderly. "Impossible situations have impossible outcomes," he murmurs.

And then he kisses Will.

His lips are warm and soft, the press of them to Will's gentle, tentative almost. Will gasps, trembling with desire, and Hannibal licks into his mouth, sharing the taste of their wine and their dinner. With the taste comes another lungful of Hannibal's scent, and Will feels how his heart skips in his chest beneath Will's hand, and he can't stop the whimper that claws its way out of his burning lungs and into Hannibal's mouth.

Hannibal's hand slides down his flank, to the band of leather keeping Will's immodest clothing in place. The slit at his thigh is already parted, soaked and clinging to his fever-warm skin, and Will moans into the kiss as Hannibal's hand spreads out wide and warm on his thigh, digging with _just_ a hint of nails; a promise of roughness, of passion, if Will merely says the word.

" _Hannibal_ ," he gasps, and Hannibal swallows that too, a rumble stuck in his chest that Will can feel beneath his shaking hand. Hannibal tilts his head, deepening their kiss as the first ends and becomes a second, a third, pleasure coiling up like a purring animal in Will's belly, hungry and eagerly awaiting the next meal.

Hannibal prowls closer as Will frantically paws at the blankets, pushing them down so Hannibal is on top of them like he is. Will's legs spread far enough to allow one of Hannibal's knees, his soft bedclothes chafing as bad as coarse canvas on his sensitive thighs.

Hannibal refuses to release him, barely ends their kisses for stuttered breaths, as he pushes his other knee between Will's thighs and spreads him wide. He's kneeling on top of Will's clothes, but the slits allow him to part as much as he wants to, his cock trapped in silk and his body leaking slick onto the mattress.

Will grabs at his hair, his strong, broad shoulders, raking nails down his back as Hannibal arches above him. "Touch me," he commands breathlessly.

Hannibal snarls, and _rips_ Will's clothes away with his bare hands, and Will whimpers at the Alpha's show of strength. The silk is fine, and tears like paper beneath his claws, but still, the display of passion and prowess is hitting him like punches to the stomach, and he has never been so aware of his own emptiness before.

He wants it filled. He wants _Hannibal_ to fill it.

"Oh, Will," Hannibal breathes against his panting mouth. He slides his hands over Will's wet thighs, curls his fingers in the leather of his belt and grips tight enough that it bites into Will's flesh. "How have you already ruined me so thoroughly?"

The feeling is mutual. Will doesn't know if, soon, he will be able to recall his own name.

Hannibal grips him, lifting his hips so that they grind together, and Will moans loudly, feeling Hannibal's erection rutting against his. Now, with his clothes torn, only Hannibal's remain as a barrier, and if he could he would tear them away as well, but his hands are weak and shaking and all he can do is hold on with a white-knuckled grip.

Hannibal noses his head to one side, sets his teeth to Will's bared throat. The pressure is light, just a tease at a proper, passionate mating bite, but the promise of it threatens to drive Will mad. He arches, groans as the pressure on his throat increases.

Then, Hannibal's lips form a seal, and he sucks the beginnings of a wide, dark mark over Will's pulse, and Will's body _gives_. He feels his muscles flutter and open, more slick leaking out, and his cock twitches and spills, staining Hannibal's clothes.

He collapses, boneless, whimpering as Hannibal continues to suck at his neck. Hannibal's purr is loud, he licks over the mark and into Will's mouth again, cupping his sweat-sodden hair and lifting him into a kiss.

He sighs. "I wish it was day," he murmurs. "I want to see you."

"I'd tell you to light a thousand candles, but I would kill you if you left me now."

Hannibal laughs, the sound soft with affection.

Will bites his lower lip. His pre-heat has calmed with his orgasm, with the scent and touch of an Alpha embedded in his lungs, and his neck throbs tenderly from Hannibal's teeth. He is tired, suddenly, and wants to rest, but he finds himself petting between his own thighs, slicking his hands, and reaching into Hannibal's clothes to wrap around his cock.

Hannibal snarls, and Will shivers. One of Hannibal's hands joins Will's, guiding him to the pressure and rhythm Hannibal likes most. Will is sure his own unsure, untried touch is less than satisfactory, and is glad for the silent instruction.

"I want you inside me," Will tells him, and finds that this, too, is not as much of a lie as he thought it would be. Hannibal's shoulders roll and arch up, his upper lip twitches in a snarl against Will's mouth, cock thick and leaking in Will's hand. "I want to show you what no one else has seen of me, give what no one else has had."

"I will take it," Hannibal promises, and kisses him fiercely. "In the morning."

Will nods. Some part of him is glad Hannibal does not simply roll Will to his belly and take what Will has so eagerly offered him. It makes him soft with affection, hearing Hannibal speak with such adoration, such pure and gentle desire. Not at all like he expected an Alpha to be, least of all Hannibal; a proven conqueror, a monster, a brute.

He might be all of those things, but not with Will, and that alone makes Will want him even more.

The scent of his own slick and come is thick in the air, Hannibal's arousal another layer of flavor that promises, promises. He lifts his head and kisses Hannibal passionately as Hannibal growls, pushing Will's hands away and taking over for himself, his free hand still holding Will up by the belt and using him for friction. Every blunt butt of his cock to Will's open, empty hole makes him whine, and when Hannibal comes, it's with a low growl and a flutter of his lashes against Will's cheek, as he nudges Will's head to one side and lays another matching bruise to his throat.

They're both sweaty and messy and soaking wet, and Will smiles, petting gentle fingers through Hannibal's damp hair.

"Stay with me," Hannibal whispers.

Will hums. "Where else would I go?"

"Anywhere you'd like," Hannibal replies. There's a smile in his voice, hiding the vulnerable, soft sigh. He nuzzles Will and cups his head, pets over his nape, pets down his flank when he releases his cock. His hand is sticky and warm and Will shivers with pleasure. "I can take you anywhere you'd like to go, Will. Once I am finished here."

Will sighs. The reminder calms the frantic heat burning through his body. Yes, one way or another, this will end. He doesn't like thinking about it, and so pushes the thought to one side, firmly buried in the satisfaction of an orgasm and the feeling of Hannibal, warm and strong, on top of him.

He grips Hannibal with his thighs and rolls him, tangling them together in torn clothing and wet blankets. Hannibal pulls the covering over them and Will purrs again, loud and uninhibited, as Hannibal gathers him close and presses a kiss to his hair.

Sleep comes for him eagerly, and Will falls into it with his nose against his Alpha's neck.


	4. Chapter 4

Dawn burns the backs of Will's eyelids, and he stirs, moaning softly as he rises from the blissful oblivion of sleep to the waking world. There is a warm, heavy weight around his waist. A heat at his back. A wonderful scent beneath his cheek, etched into sweat-stained pillows. His clothes, or rather, what remains of them, are crisp and stiff with sweat, slick, and come.

A shiver runs down Will's spine as he feels warm lips touch his neck, and he smiles. He closes his eyes, for a moment content to merely bask. What's life without the occasional indulgence? He lifts a hand, finds a stubble-rough cheek, a sharp-arched bone leading him to the circle of an eye socket. A nose, pressed flat to his hair, a heavy inhale the likes of which Will hasn't heard outside of animals.

The arm around his waist moves, as though it was merely waiting for him to awaken. The leather belt around Will's hips is slowly, silently, unbuckled, the halves pulled apart so he's bare beneath the single sheet that remained clinging to him during the night.

The hand hesitates. Flattens on his hip. Will smiles. "Does my passivity put you in another impossible situation?" he teases. For now, he is lucid and warm and comfortable. It will not last long – if his heats progress as they have before, he will soon become mindless and desperate, slick and empty and searching for anything to fill him. It might even be worse, with a viable bedmate so near.

Behind him, Hannibal laughs. "Not impossible," he replies, his voice low and rasping as though he has been growling all night. It worms its way into Will's ear, around the base of his skull, down his spine so suddenly he arches with it, biting his lower lip, hip lifting into Hannibal's big, wide-splayed hand. "If passive is how you wish to behave. I think it unlike you, though."

Will's smile widens. "I'm simply curious," he admits.

"Curious?" Hannibal echoes.

"Mm." Will turns, to his back, head going further so he can catch sight of Hannibal in the daylight. He looks younger, blessed with the gentle golden rays, his eyes a beautiful mix of red and brown that Will could stare at forever. He is no artist, but Hannibal has the face and countenance of a King, and deserves to be immortalized. He lifts his hand and rests his knuckles against Hannibal's cheek. "Are you…forceful?" he says, head cocked, one finger straightening to tap against Hannibal's temple. "Exploratory? Do you like to map every sensitive place within a lover before taking them for yourself? Are you so confident in your prowess that I would be made incoherent with pleasure without trying?" He smiles, as Hannibal's eyes darken, and his nostrils flare. "Do you think us compatible enough that it will come naturally?" He taps again, and hums. "I'm curious."

A smile tugs at the corners of Hannibal's mouth, and he turns his head, lips set to Will's pulse, which abruptly jumps and begins to race at the soft press of his mouth.

"Now there's a thought," Hannibal purrs, and before Will can answer, Hannibal tugs on him, forcibly pulling him across the scant space between them on the bed, into the Alpha's arms. Will gasps, eyes wide, but his stomach is heavy and empty, his thighs spread in readiness as Hannibal kisses him – deep, passionately, until Will is breathless.

Then, when Will is whining and pawing at him, pretty words and sharp wit forgotten as his body begins to burn, Hannibal grabs him and lifts him bodily off the bed, setting him on his feet, on the cold floor. Will stares at him, curling in on himself, for he is so feverish, and the floor is cold, and he's shivering.

Hannibal goes to him, cups his face and kisses him again in a way that makes Will want to collapse on himself. He's sweating, slick dripping with gravity's help down his thighs. Dripping on the floor and leaving a dark stain behind.

"There is no reason we cannot combine all your theories, Will," he purrs. Will's brow creases, and he bites his lower lip. "Perhaps it will come naturally, perhaps some exploration is in order. I have, after all, had just a taste of your body, and no other Alpha has; you could not tell me what you like, even if I asked."

Will swallows. Hannibal seems remarkably pleased about that.

"Making you insensate with pleasure would…satisfy me greatly," Hannibal continues, eyes all black except where they are red as they rake Will up and down. He is naked, now, and certainly not shy, but feels so exposed under Hannibal's ravenous gaze. He steps close and Will whines, as Hannibal takes him by the hair and tilts his head back. Will's knees buckle, barely able to lock in time, his heart racing. His vision narrows to a tunnel, nothing but Hannibal, _Hannibal_ -.

Hannibal leans in and bites, lightly, at Will's red ear. Snarls; "When you cannot take a second more, when you beg for it, I will show you force."

Will _whimpers_ , a hollow gasp rattling about his lungs. He reaches for Hannibal and grabs him savagely, fingers curling tight in his clothes, and hauls him in for a kiss that holds teeth. His body arches, grinding desperately against Hannibal's thigh, his breath coming in a heavy, low growl as Hannibal's hands spread out and flatten down his back, grip Will at the base of his spine and tug him closer in encouragement.

He wants it. He wants all of it. But -, "I am not so easily overwhelmed, _my Lord_ ," Will says, grinning when Hannibal's eyes flash in displeasure. He pushes Hannibal back, crowds him until they return to the bed and Will can climb onto his lap. "If you want an Omega who will simply be passive, you have chosen poorly."

Hannibal smiles, showing his teeth. He grabs Will's thighs and rolls them, a powerful surge of his body that puts Will on his back. Will gasps, moaning weakly and baring his neck as Hannibal's teeth find his pulse. One of Hannibal's hands wraps around Will's wrist, shoving it above his head. The other grabs Will's ass tightly and holds him still, pinned to the bed as Hannibal ruts against him.

Will is helpless to resist the biological impulse to go limp and sweet for his Alpha. His lashes flutter as Hannibal licks over his neck, and when Hannibal rears up over him, his expression is one of smug triumph.

"Beautiful," he breathes, and leans down to kiss Will. Will whines sweetly, thighs lifting to grip Hannibal and try to shove his clothes out of the way. Hannibal pulls their joined hands behind Will's head so that he can grip Will's hair as well and keep him still.

He moves from Will's neck, meeting his eyes. He releases Will's hip and instead cups his face, leaning down so their foreheads touch. Will's lashes flutter, lips parted to drink down Hannibal's soft growl, aching, desperate. He cranes his head up until the hold on his hair stings, so he can kiss Hannibal. He's so warm, Hannibal kisses with a gentleness Will would never have imagined. But now, God, how is he possibly meant to kiss another? When Hannibal is dead and Mason is back in power, Will hopes -.

He shakes the thought away. He doesn't want to linger on it.

"Please," he whispers, cupping Hannibal's face in mimic, their eyes meeting. Hannibal's upper lip twitches and he leans down for another kiss, as Will's hand slides down the back of his neck, beneath his shirt, and pulls it up and over his head.

Hannibal breaks the kiss just long enough to shed his shirt, and the rest of his clothes, leaving him just as bare as Will. It's been…forever since Will was with someone who was just as naked as him, without that other person being a fellow concubine and Omega. He's greeted to the vision he was denied during the night.

Hannibal is _beautiful._

Will fights his way free of the Alpha's grip and sits upright, his hands fluttering to a halt on Hannibal's shoulders. "Wait," he says. Hannibal immediately goes still, eyes sharp on Will – attentive. It occurs to Will that Hannibal… _would_ actually stop. If Will asked him to, he would stop. How strange, how wonderful.

But Will has no intention of stopping. He just needs to look.

Those scars that evaded him earlier are visible, now. Hannibal has one, on his flank. A thick white line across his ribs. There is another, like a bite from a rival Alpha, in his chest where the muscle starts to swell in earnest. His chest is covered with a thick pelt of hair, a mix of black and grey. Will swallows, and purrs weakly, leaning in and nuzzling against it.

Hannibal huffs, gently, and cups Will's skull. Will bites his lower lip, sucks in a breath, hands dragging down to rest on the thickness of Hannibal's flanks – powerful, strong. A warrior's body. Despite his age, he is defined. Two sharp lines cut from his hips, inward, the pelt of hair narrowing to a black trail that leads down to Hannibal's cock.

Will had thought, having touched it and having one of his own, he would know what to expect. But no, Hannibal is much larger than Will anticipated. Thick, proudly curved, the head the same deep red as Hannibal's lips. Buried in another cluster of small black hairs, it's just as well-made as the rest of the Alpha. Will lets out a rough, ragged sound, suddenly so _empty_.

"Hannibal," he breathes.

Hannibal hums, and leans down to kiss his hair. "You are under no obligation to do anything," he reminds Will. Will's hands flex on Hannibal's hips. He doesn't know how to say that he knows that, he understands. He is not afraid, not wary in the slightest. His body, despite its lack of experience, was designed and evolved to host an Alpha inside it. Childish and idealistic though it sounds, they have fit together so well so far, it's impossible to think they will not in this way, too.

He lifts his head, breathing hard. He raises a hand and digs his nails into Hannibal's shoulder. "I don't have words for how much I want to," he says, and doesn't know what to think about how genuinely he means that, so he doesn't try. Hannibal's smile is gentle, his eyes dark. Will's next sound is sheepish. "Only…."

He hesitates. There's a way to say this. A way to lure his prey in. But he can't think past the pulsing need inside his gut. He needs to twist this a certain way; he needs to set a precedent. He cannot be passive and then suddenly take charge, later, where the time comes to strike. That would be suspicious. He cannot put up too much of a fight, lest Hannibal become used to besting him physically when they lay together. The thought of Hannibal fighting him, overpowering him, showing his prowess and skill with teeth in Will's neck and big hands pinning him down is an enticing one, an insistent, snarling idea that makes every inch of him feel too warm and liquid.

"What is it, Will?" Hannibal murmurs.

He's so beautiful. Will would rather stare at nothing else. He will remember Hannibal, just like this, when he's gone. When Will is at Mason's side and bearing his skeletal fingers and wine-sharp breath and his waif-like, sickly children.

"Don't fuck me like a slave," Will whispers. Hannibal blinks, brow creasing. When Mason is back in power, if and when he comes for Will, it will be as a whore; face down and spread open and bred to bursting whenever he pleases. No gentle touches, no affectionate looks. No kisses – though that might be a blessing. "Not the first time, at least. Please?"

If Will is going to be a free man, even for so short a time, if he must surrender his virginity and body to this man, this Alpha, who is so kind and gentle and just, then let him show it in how they move together. Face to face, so that the memories can keep him warm when nothing else will.

"I -." Hannibal stops, searching, his frown deepening. Will swallows, and dips his eyes down. His hands shake as another impatient wave of heat rises up in him, and he can't do much to beat it back, now. He pulls Hannibal to him, hands threading through his hair, kisses until he feels Hannibal's hands return to him. He smiles, a quiet purr rumbling in his chest that Hannibal answers with a snarl of his own.

He grabs both of Will's wrists and pins them above his head with one hand. "There must be some language difference, here," he tells Will. Will blinks up at him, and frowns. "That is not the word I would use."

"It's a fine enough word, for what this is," Will replies weakly. Hannibal doesn't seem angry, but he is clearly offended. Will winces as the fingers around his wrists tighten. Almost immediately, they loosen, but the pressure, the heat of his strong grip remains. Hannibal sighs through his nose, resigned, and nuzzles Will gently.

"I suppose," he admits.

Will swallows, not sure how to correct the misstep. He's far from his normally clear thoughts; it's hard to anticipate and manipulate when every inch and muscle in his body is screaming for closeness. For more, more, sweat and skin and slick burning him from the inside out. He bites back a whimper, tries to keep his breathing steady.

Hannibal hums, and pushes himself upright. He squeezes Will's wrists, far gentler. "Keep them there," he commands, and Will shivers, eyes hooded and heavy as Hannibal nuzzles his collarbone. Spreads his jaws and licks, flat and warm and wide, along the line of it. One hand is holding him upright, the other flattening across Will's red, heaving chest. He takes a nipple between his fingers and tightly pinches.

Will hisses, tipping his head back, a groan of pleasure wrenched from him. Hannibal smiles, and does it again, before he licks back to the hollow of Will's throat and bites down on the tendon, just shy of the mark he left the night before.

Will whimpers, and grips the headboard as best he can so he doesn't disobey Hannibal's command. It's difficult, there are no slats and the mattress is too thick to wrap his fingers around, but he tries. Hannibal drags his teeth across Will's collarbone, sighing warmly. Sweat beads on Will's brow and the back of his neck, and Hannibal nuzzles at his hair, licks beneath his jaw, breathes him in raggedly.

He moves down, kissing open-mouthed in a line from Will's collarbone to his chest, taking his other nipple in a delicate lick and sucking it into his mouth. Will whimpers, the sensation clawing at his chest like nails, as though his spine is a grounding rod for every sensation, driving it straight to his cock. He's hard and leaking, soaked with slick, his body opening wide for the inevitable fullness of an Alpha inside it.

Hannibal continues to suck, his lashes low, head tilted so Will can see when he takes Will between his teeth and gives a gentle tug. Will arches into it, gasping raggedly, squirming beneath Hannibal's weight. Hannibal rests between his legs and Will doesn't know what he wants more; to spread himself wide and beg, or to cling and demand. His nails dig into the top of the mattress and he whines when Hannibal releases his nipple, now peaked and hard and shining with saliva.

Hannibal smiles, a soft, pleased sound stuck in his throat, and continues on, and Will watches, wide-eyed, as Hannibal drags his other hand down from Will's other nipple, fingers splayed out wide, and curls his hand beneath Will's back, so that he can arch up and Hannibal can tilt his head, part his lips, and lick a broad, hot line up Will's cock.

" _Fuck_ ," Will whispers, gasping. Hannibal smiles at him, a rumble in his throat as he grips Will's hips with both hands, holding him still. He licks again, and takes Will's cockhead between his lips, cheeks hollowing as he sucks. Will whimpers, bucking up into the warm, wet heat that surrounds him. He's so sensitive, and has never been touched like this before – the idea of going back to his own hand now seems like the greatest offense. He can't keep his hands where they are – they fly down to Hannibal's head, gripping his hair tightly as the Alpha hums, lashes low, and takes him deep into his mouth. "Fuck, Hannibal, _oh_ -."

Every inch of him is molten and shaking. His thighs tremble, clinging around Hannibal's shoulders, and he's sure he's pulling so hard on Hannibal's hair that it hurts, but Hannibal seems delighted at that. He moans and swallows around Will's cock, tongue licking broad and heavy along the vein. Will grits his teeth and blows out a breath, tipping his head back, toes curling and shoved down Hannibal's back. He can't control his orgasm; it comes for him like a lunging animal, and he manages to choke out one single, weak word of warning before he's coming.

Hannibal's nostrils flare, and he swallows it all down.

"Fuck, fuck…." Will hisses as Hannibal continues to suck him, past pleasure and into oversensitive twitches that make Will writhe against the sheets. He has soaked the bed; the mattress is likely ruined. Hannibal's hands grip him hard to keep a hold of his sweaty flesh as his stomach tenses, hips bucking up in helpless thrusts, frantically squirming, breathing hard.

Hannibal pulls off his softening cock with one slow lick, swallows loudly, and gives a hum of pleasure, tucking his nose to the wet crease of Will's thigh. He breathes in raggedly, the red of his eyes shining bright. "You taste divine," he purrs.

Will tries to uncurl his hands, releasing his death grip on Hannibal's hair. He can only stare, hardly seeing, down at the Alpha. "Please," he whispers, and Hannibal's eyes flash up to meet his. They pin him in place; a predator daring his prey to run. Will doesn't want to run. "Please, Hannibal. Don't make me wait any longer."

Hannibal's nostrils flare again, his teeth showing around his ragged inhale. He flattens his hands down Will's thighs, pushes himself upright and spreads his knees between Will's legs so Will is wet and open for him. He feels too open, punctured like the hull of a ship; he will sink, he will drown, unless Hannibal fills him. The Alpha's cock is leaking steadily, thin beads of precum pearling at the tip of his cock. Will's mouth goes dry.

He's already starting to fill again. His heat will not let him rest, not let him find any satisfaction until he has a knot inside him. He brings Hannibal to him, welcoming his weight and his warmth, and moans softly at the drag of sweat-damp hair against his chest.

Hannibal snarls, and hooks his hands behind Will's knees, folding him almost in half until Will's calves rest on Hannibal's shoulders. Will paws at his nape and kisses him, deeply, welcoming Hannibal's tongue in his mouth, his teeth in Will's lower lip.

It is like that, pinned in place, that Hannibal grips his ass, angles Will, lines himself up, and starts to push inside. It feels like dipping into the warmest bath, silky water encasing him. From his toes, which curl, his legs cramping from going so tense. His thighs, shaking, his stomach clenched. Hannibal sinks into him like they have been doing this all their lives, like two pieces of a puzzle finally sliding home. Will's muscles part for Hannibal so readily, slick and loose with pleasure.

Will claws at Hannibal's neck, his back, his shoulders, and knows he's raising red lines. He can't breathe around their kiss, so they are both locked, lips parted and tongues meeting for the occasional lick as Hannibal smoothly pierces him. Will is sure the noises he's making are loud enough to be heard by any passing servant or courtier outside, and his gut twists with a visceral stab of pride at that thought.

He is here, bedded by a King. No one else. Hannibal chose him, him alone. He has shown no interest in the other Omegas, has given Will his time and his affection, his wit and his charm and now, his body. Will can taste himself on Hannibal's tongue. He's marked Hannibal on the inside, and soon, Hannibal will do the same.

Hannibal's body connects with his, pressed flush, and Will gasps at the feeling, closing his eyes as he becomes used to the weight of an Alpha on top of him, the heat and thickness of Hannibal's cock inside him. Having Hannibal's forehead pressed to his, his hands gripping Will's back, now, holding him steady. Hearing how he growls and feeling how he shakes – it's intimate. It's more intimate than Will anticipated. He likes it.

"I'm alright," he whispers, for he knows that's what Hannibal is waiting for. Hannibal releases his breath and Will takes it in, clenching around his Alpha's cock just to feel Hannibal shudder. He smiles, and opens his eyes. He can see his gold reflected in Hannibal's wide pupils. He knows it's the brightest it's ever shone.

He leans up and catches Hannibal's mouth in another kiss, sighing; "You can move."

Hannibal's lips twitch with amusement, and he kisses Will again, holding him steady as he rolls his hips, thick cock dragging out and then pushed back in with a forceful thrust that robs Will of his air. Will moans, nails dug into Hannibal's back, urging him on. He can't cling, like this, cannot wrap his legs around Hannibal's waist and goad him, can barely think of any incensing words that would spur him on, but he doesn't think he needs any.

Hannibal lets go with one hand, curls it around the back of Will's neck, threading through his hair. He tips Will's head back as he builds up a rhythm, the mattress creaking with the long, powerful thrusts that make every inch of Will shake. The sound of it is loud and wet; he's so open, so slick and welcoming. Hannibal seems struck mute, in awe, and that proud knot in Will's gut twists tighter.

Hannibal snarls when Will's nails tighten in his back again, his jaws parting on Will's neck over the mark he left the night before. Will whimpers in encouragement, body clenching helplessly in pleasure around Hannibal's cock, goading him to be rougher, go deeper, take more. "Harder," he hisses.

Hannibal's back arches, and he growls loudly. His teeth drag along Will's neck, sucking a darker mark. Will clenches his eyes tightly shut, pleasure dragging down his spine, making him writhe and arch, seeking friction for his aching cock against Hannibal's belly.

Hannibal laughs, and the hand on Will's ass tightens. "Be still," he commands.

Will snaps his teeth together and lets out a snarl of his own. "Make me," he challenges.

Another laugh mixes with a growl in Hannibal's chest. He releases Will's neck so their eyes can meet, and moves his hand from Will's nape to his throat, pinning him down. Will gasps, wide-eyed, instinctively going lax at the pressure. Hannibal purrs for him, leans down and kisses the breath from his gasping lungs. Still, Will cannot help how he clings to Hannibal's back, using the leverage to lift his hips into Hannibal's thrusts, cock rutting frantically against the trail of hair on his stomach.

"I could not make you do anything," Hannibal purrs, and sounds delighted by that. His smile is wide, corners of his mouth cutting into the flush on his cheeks. "You are not a passive creature, darling."

Will smiles, arching a brow. "Does that displease you?"

No, the look in Hannibal's eyes is far from displeased. It is hungry; ravenous. Will's throat is tense from the pressure of Hannibal's hand, but he is not afraid.

"You delight me at every turn," Hannibal murmurs breathlessly, and leans down to kiss Will again. He pushes Will's legs off his shoulders and Will hisses, wincing as his sore hips are made to move to accommodate the change in position. His hands find Hannibal's hair and thread through it.

Hannibal snarls, suddenly, and yanks Will to him, forcing himself deep into Will's body as he spasms in surprise. Will moans, the sound weak and desperate, baring his neck as Hannibal finds another patch of unblemished skin and bites down to raise a welt. Not a mating mark, bloodshed is required for that, but damn near close.

The feeling of Hannibal's teeth in his neck makes Will whine, another surge of pleasure running down his body and more slick dripping from his hole. He gasps as, abruptly, Hannibal grabs him and changes the angle again, and his cock sinks all the way in, brushing against a spot inside of Will that makes him clench up, toes curling.

Hannibal snarls, and it sounds like what an Alpha might do when he kills.

Will growls raggedly in answer, shoving at Hannibal's shoulders and using his freed limbs to roll them, until Hannibal is on his back. They are perilously close to the edge of the mattress, in danger of rolling right into Will's nest. He sinks down hard on Hannibal's cock and moans, head tipping back as that spot is brushed again.

Hannibal smiles up at him, petting down his chest, and grips his hips to help him move. Will clenches his fists tight enough his knuckles turn white, grits his teeth and rolls his hips, frantically chasing that pressure. It feels like too much and not enough all at once; pressure building up in his chest and his stomach. He can't catch his breath, can't think past the need to burst somewhere, anywhere. He's so slick it drips out of him, across their thighs, staining Hannibal's hips and the sheets below.

"Knot me," he demands weakly, so breathless the words are barely more than air. Hannibal's eyes flash, and darken further. "Please, Hannibal. _Please_."

Hannibal's upper lip twitches and Will leans down to catch it in his teeth, bites down and licks to soothe the sting as Hannibal grips his hair tightly and kisses him, other hand digging nails around Will's hip and forcing him down. Forcing him still.

The first breach of his knot is enough for Will to come again, rutting off-rhythm and desperate through the mess as he stains Hannibal's belly. He collapses, breathing hard, kissing and kissing as Hannibal guides him through the last few rocks it takes for his knot to swell completely. It's huge, and with its lock comes a brief sting of pain that makes Will whimper, flinching. Every muscle in him is trembling and twitching, and he gasps as, after a single moment of stillness, he feels the first thick spurt of Hannibal's release inside him.

" _Oh_ ," he whispers, panting. Hannibal growls, and pulls Will down, rolling him onto his back again and spreading his legs wide so Hannibal can pin him, sinking in that last inch, where Will's body can spasm and lock around him, sealing him in place.

He's purring, they both are, Hannibal's heavy exhale loud and warm against Will's cheek as they try to catch their breath. The weight of Hannibal on him is soothing, now, instead of promising. Will bites his lower lip, breathing in shakily, pets through Hannibal's hair and submits to his long, deep kisses, one hand in the center of his Alpha's back so he can feel how Hannibal's spine flexes with every twitch.

A shaky laugh escapes Will, and he pushes his sweaty hair from his face as Hannibal meets his eyes, low-lidded and smiling. "I understand, now, why heats are enjoyable for most."

"Have they never been before?" Hannibal asks curiously. He lowers his head, absently nosing at Will's neck, where his pulse is still racing. Will shivers, pressing his lips together, tilts his head to one side and bares more of his throat.

"No," he confesses. "It's different alone."

He clears his throat. "And it's different for someone like me." At Hannibal's hum, he adds; "Someone who has limited choice for a bedmate, if any."

Hannibal is quiet, for a moment, and then he sighs, kissing Will's neck, and nods. "I understand." He takes one of Will's hands, laces their fingers together in a move so startling in its tenderness that Will goes breathless all over again. "I cannot imagine."

Will swallows. It will be his fate eventually, once his task is completed. He closes his eyes and turns to rub his cheek against Hannibal's, willing the thought away.

But Hannibal doesn't relent. He rises, and cups Will's face in a gentle touch. "I want to understand that you will always have a choice," he says. Will blinks at him, swallowing. "Welcoming me into your body once does not mean the invitation is mine by right." He hesitates, and adds; "Regardless of what the future holds for us."

Will's brow creases, his head tilts.

Hannibal smiles, though it seems forced. "Forgive me," he murmurs, and leans down for another kiss that Will is eager to answer. "Your contract should be ready. I should have fetched it before."

Will laughs. "I trust your word," he says.

"Regardless," Hannibal replies, petting his hair. His knot deflates slowly, and Will whines as he pulls out, a thick river of come and slick following like an open wound. He shivers, and his stomach clenches angrily around its own emptiness as Hannibal's gaze rakes him up and down, hungry and wanting. He swallows, and breathes out shakily. "I will go get it now. And some food for us."

Will smiles.

"How long does your heat normally last?"

"Three days," Will replies. Though he's not sure this artificial, forced one will behave the same.

Hannibal nods. "I will make sure we are well-supplied," he murmurs, and stands, cautiously navigating the ruined bed and Will's nest. He dresses in a rush, still absolutely stinking of Will, and Will purrs softly at the notion of Hannibal wandering the castle with his scent so thoroughly embedded on him. With those marks, painted in desperate red lines down his back from Will's nails. He wonders if they sting.

He sits up in bed and Hannibal returns to him, cupping his neck and kissing him deeply. "I will return as soon as I can."

Will nods, and knows he is utterly sincere in his longing when he says; "Hurry back."

The door opens, and it is not Hannibal, but Franklyn, bearing a tray of food. Will is shaky and weak with heat, trembling with the need to be mounted again. He can do little more than groan in acknowledgement as Franklyn brings him some water to drink.

"Will," Franklyn whispers urgently, and Will blinks at him, eyes hazy. "The King Mason wants to know your plan."

Will winces, the water suddenly turning bitter. He swallows, and rubs a hand over his mouth. "Tell him that -." Another surge of heat runs down his spine, and he pauses. He cannot possibly harm Hannibal during – his body is too weak, too wanting, to strike the Alpha and leave himself unsatisfied. And he wouldn't put it past Mason to want to fuck him while Hannibal's body grew cold, after the deed was done.

His stomach twists in revulsion at the thought, and his fingers curl tight around his cup.

"Tell him that I will distract the usurper," he whispers. "I have blinded him with lust, and he will remain with me for the next three days. Tell him to send someone with a knife and steady hand. I will make sure Hannibal is weak and distracted, and he can strike him down."

He swallows another drink of water, and hisses; "And then I will happily welcome him as my master once again."

Franklyn blinks at him, eyes wide and face pale. His gaze is soft with sympathy as he takes the water back from Will. "I will pass on your message," he murmurs with a small bow. Will closes his eyes and rubs his hands over his face as Franklyn leaves.

Perhaps it is his heat, his hormones and attachment to Hannibal that makes him suddenly so sick to his stomach. He cannot help think of how things will change, once Hannibal is dead. Mason is a cruel and weak King. He is not loved, not intelligent and powerful enough to be strong. Hannibal, though, inspires loyalty and affection. Will _likes_ him. Mason would not be so nearly passionate and attentive a lover; he would not care about Will's consent, or his health. He would not be at this moment fetching supplies to make sure Will was taken care of during his heat.

Will is loyal to the rightful King. The King that his master Crawford named was Mason. But perhaps just because someone was named King doesn't mean he deserves the title. Perhaps a conqueror, a brute, a monster who is gentle and aware and doting, is more suitable for such a thing.

The thoughts cause an uncomfortable coil of anxiousness in his chest, a pounding in his head that is relentless and terrible. It is only soothed when, a short time later, Hannibal returns. He has several bags slung from his broad shoulders, and a roll of parchment in his hand.

He sets them down and goes to Will, and Will trembles and sighs with relief under his touch. "I have the contract," he murmurs.

Will shakes his head and drags him into a kiss. "I'll sign it later," he says roughly, pulling Hannibal to him. Hannibal smiles, eyes bright with affection, hands gentle and warm and so, so soothing. Will closes his eyes and kisses Hannibal deeply, as his Alpha spreads his legs and fills the emptiness inside Will's howling body as easily as the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh no will caught feelings who's surprised not me  
> I'm thinking one more chapter after this. maybe two if it gets long - I know what's going to happen now so it's just a case of getting there :D


	5. Chapter 5

Hannibal insists on feeding him, as the day grows older and the shadows spread out longer beneath the setting sun. Will can barely see, let alone stand, and he blindly suckles at Hannibal's fingers as Hannibal feeds him syrupy honey and fresh fruit, bread that dries his mouth, meat that feels so good to sink his teeth into and gnaw down to the bone.

The bed is a mess, impossible to recover – Will has embedded himself so thickly in the mattress of the King. It will linger for generations unless it's replaced. Mason might replace it – he detests the heat scent of a mature Omega. He only fucks the young, the newly blossoming. Even if he makes Will his bedmate and forces Will to bear his children, they will likely not be conceived here.

These thoughts come to him as fleeting as the glow of fireflies, blinking in and out between long stretches of Hannibal's teeth in his neck, his hands on Will's shoulders and flanks and thighs. Will climbs into his Alpha's lap and sinks down onto his cock with a heavy sigh, forehead dropped to Hannibal's shoulder as he rides him feverishly, desperate to chase that promising fullness of his knot. His nails rake deeper furrows into the nape of Hannibal's neck. He has learned what makes Hannibal snarl and shiver for him; learned that his Alpha has a sensitive place at the small of his back and another at the base of his skull where, if Will grips it just right, he is compelled to fuck deep and hard in long, rolling thrusts that make Will's toes curl.

He has learned that Hannibal likes hearing Will's weak, shaky cries of pleasure. Will has forced his knot merely by biting below his ear and whispering, "Hannibal, _please_."

And Will has discovered things about himself, too. He has learned he likes it when Hannibal pulls his hair, when he sucks deep, aching bruises to his throat. When he takes Will into his mouth and hollows his cheeks. When his hands flatten over Will's nipples, teasing them to hardness. He likes the look of satisfaction in Hannibal's eyes when he brings Will to orgasm, how his nostrils flare and he snarls low and rough when Will clamps tight around his cock.

He chases his orgasm until it comes for him, sending a shudder down his spine as he twitches and spills another messy load onto Hannibal's stomach, which is now crusted and stained with his come from so many rounds, matted into the hair on his chest. He collapses against Hannibal, breathing hard, and moans weakly as Hannibal pets his sweat-soaked hair from his face and kisses his red cheek.

"How are you feeling?" Hannibal asks him, his voice low and rough.

"I'm so tired," he whispers.

Hannibal hums, and while he is still hard, and hasn't knotted yet, he seems in no hurry to swell inside Will. He lifts Will from his cock and lays him down and Will whimpers again, oversensitive skin protesting even the fine silk sheets, the soft pillows and mattress. Everything hurts to touch except Hannibal; Will might go mad if he doesn't -.

Hannibal flattens over Will, his belly resting against Will's back, and he leans down to nuzzle his flushed nape. "Then rest, darling," he purrs, and Will gives another weak, desperate sound. His thighs twitch, trying to lift his ass to invite his Alpha back in, but he can't bring himself to move. Still, that gnawing and relentless hunger is in his stomach; he's only calm when he has his Alpha inside him, only settles and cools under his knot and his seed.

Will gasps, as Hannibal's hands flatten on his ass, spreading him open as Hannibal kneels back. He snarls loudly, thumbing at Will's sore, red rim. After a lifetime with nothing but his fingers inside him, taking so many of Hannibal's knots brings with it inevitable pain. Hannibal is large and his knot is solid and wide, and Will is made to take an Alpha's cock and knot, but even his oh-so-willing body has its limits.

Another gasp is wrenched from him, followed by a long, deep moan, as he feels the first long lick of Hannibal's tongue over his leaking rim. He's soaked with slick and dripping come, and he knows Hannibal is tasting both of them, melted together as much as Will's and Hannibal's scent is caked into their skins and the sheets.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," he whimpers, gripping the knot of sheets at the base of the bed tightly. Hannibal's purr is loud as he licks again, his tongue gentle on Will's sore flesh, parting him easily. He licks deep, coaxing Will into clenching, into feeding him more. Will's eyes burn with unshed tears, every muscle in him lax and trembling with pleasure. His cock hardens again, and he bucks against the sheets, until Hannibal's hands tighten on him and hold him still. "Fuck, Hannibal, _please_."

Hannibal snarls, teeth edging Will's sensitive rim. Saliva drips from his mouth, soaking Will further, and he licks again, sinking his tongue inside Will as Will shakes and whimpers for him. Then, he rises, pushing himself flat to Will's heaving back. He laces their fingers together.

"You're not a slave, Will," he whispers, and Will nods. He knows that – this isn't like that. This is something deeper, rougher, fiercer. Hannibal fits inside him so well, and Will spreads his legs eagerly, lifting up into the first thrust as Hannibal's cock finds his soaked, open hole, and pushes back in.

Will comes with a scream, a rough and ragged, loud thing, as he works himself back frantically onto Hannibal's cock so he can feel all of it filling him again. Hannibal snarls, nuzzling his hair, his nape, his red ear and flushed cheek.

Hannibal growl is low, more sensation than sound. He releases one of Will's hands and presses it against his belly, pinned against the sheets. Will can't help how he moans, clenching tight around his Alpha's cock. He understands the implication.

" _Yes_ ," he whispers, and flattens his hand over Hannibal's, nodding weakly. "Yes. I'll -. I'll give you sons. Enough to conquer the world."

Hannibal snarls, mute with anticipation.

"I will," Will breathes, hardly able to control his tongue, but he knows the words are true. He wants it – he wants to breed for Hannibal. Wants Hannibal on top of him and inside him every night, every day, as often as he can get it. He wants to bear young for his King, for his Alpha. He wants Hannibal's teeth -.

His fingers tighten between Hannibal's, and he moans weakly, rubbing his face against the mattress, arching into Hannibal's chest and mouth as Hannibal bites down on his shoulder. He slows, an action well-known to Will now. His knot slips into his loose, wet hole, but when it swells it's just as large, the seal just as tight. Will's stomach is heavy, weighted with his Alpha's knot. He shudders as Hannibal spills inside him a second, tenth, thousandth time. It doesn't feel like enough – Will is still in heat, which means he hasn't caught. He should catch; he wants to.

Hannibal's purr is loud and rough with satisfaction, his cheek grazing Will's aching shoulders.

Will sighs, and then goes tense, when he hears the door open.

He can barely see, but when he lifts his eyes, there is a shadow at the door. The glint of a blade in hand.

He doesn't hesitate. Were he in his right mind, he doesn't think he would have hesitated then, either.

He wrenches himself free and lunges for the threat to his nest, to his mate. There's a cry of alarm, two bodies slamming hard against the door, so it closes with an echoing _bang_. Will hisses in pain as the knife skates over his ribs, cutting him shallowly, but long.

He sees red, and then he tastes it. His fangs find a pulse, vulnerable and hot and so easy to tear into. His claws are sharp as they tear into a chest, into a soft and yielding stomach. There's a startled cry again, a gurgling sound of blood in the mouth. Will's tongue is wet with it, his teeth coated. He tears until he tastes bone and wrenches flesh free, blood spurting across his cheek, his chest, down his slick and sweaty body.

It tastes like Alpha, but not _his_ Alpha.

"Will."

Oh, there he is. Will purrs, smiling as a hand goes to his hair and he's pulled back from the carcass. It slumps to the floor, red eyes staring up at him in accusation. Will catches the knife and takes it free from the loose grip, holds it in his shaking hands.

He gasps.

 _Fuck_.

Mason's assassin. Will doesn't know his name, but he recognizes his face. The plan – Will was meant to distract Hannibal, meant to hold him down and still while his throat was cut. It should be Hannibal's blood on him now.

He clenches his jaw, tightens his grip around the knife. Hannibal's face swims into focus in his periphery, and Will lifts his eyes. He should strike now. He should take the knife and plunge it into Hannibal's heart. He should complete his mission. Mason will be furious at Will, but could forgive him this slight if it meant Hannibal died in the end.

Hannibal's gaze drops to the knife in Will's hand. His nostrils flare, head tilting.

Will should act now. He should, he should -.

Hannibal's hand tightens in his hair and he pulls Will into a kiss. Will gasps into it, as Hannibal licks the blood from his tongue, and moans lowly, hand dropping limp at his side. Hannibal's hands are everywhere, in his bloody hair and down his flanks and -.

Will hisses, as his wound is brushed. He flinches away and Hannibal steadies him with a soothing sound.

Will breathes out heavily, staring at Hannibal as he tenderly thumbs at the edges of Will's wound. "It's not deep," he murmurs.

"I barely feel it," Will replies. Adrenaline and heat make him strong.

Hannibal smiles at him, his eyes bright with a heady mix of pride and pleasure. He turns away to examine the body, and Will's hand tightens around the knife again. He could do it now – a hand in Hannibal's hair, the other slicing clean across his throat. It would be impossible to tell their blood apart.

He watches, trembling, as Hannibal tilts the other Alpha's head to one side, leans in and bites a chunk of his throat free. He swallows, as Hannibal stands, and Will is helpless to resist as Hannibal kisses him again, pushing the flesh into his mouth. It's a courting gesture, an archaic and old one, but it makes every inch of Will burn, and come alive.

His Alpha. This is _his_ Alpha. Will killed for him, bled for him, bared himself for him. Because Hannibal deserves it. He's worthy; an instinct old as time pulses in Will's belly at the knowledge. Alpha killed and conquered for him, usurped a throne for his right to touch. Gave Will agency and freedom and the ability to say 'No'.

He moans against Hannibal's mouth, and drops the knife. It clatters to the floor and Hannibal lunges for him, sending both of them tumbling into Will's nest. It has, somehow, remained untouched their entire time together, and Will loves that the first time they enter it, it is with blood and flesh in their mouths, heat heavy in his skull.

He takes Hannibal's cock in hand, his knot still half-swollen, denied. He spreads his legs and wraps them around Hannibal's waist, urging him back in, a grunt of relief punched from his gut as Hannibal's knot presses against his rim insistently, and then sinks back inside him, swelling anew and locking them together.

" _Will_ ," Hannibal breathes, both hands in Will's hair, kissing him ravenously. "Darling, you are glorious."

Will laughs. Only a strong, worthy Alpha would find pleasure at the sight of his Omega killing. Defending his nest, bloodied and bruised and alight with triumph. It burns down Will's spine like fire, makes him arch, forcing Hannibal to keep moving, knot rutting against the spot inside Will that blinds him with pleasure.

"I will keep you with me forever," Hannibal continues, kissing his way down Will's neck, to where his pulse rushes strongest. Will shivers, petting Hannibal's bare shoulders with his bloody hands. Red is such a good color on Hannibal – it should be his colors, forgoing the purple of the King, when he makes his new emblem. "I will give you children, as many as you desire, and show you every far corner of the world. I swear, Will."

Will gasps, eyes flying open wide as he feels Hannibal's teeth at his pulse. Feels the Alpha bite, and keep biting, until he splits skin. A mating mark – irrevocable. Unmatched, unless Will places one of his own. Another powerful wave of pleasure runs through Will's body, he arches and grinds his cock against Hannibal's belly and comes between them with a loud snarl.

It seems so easy, so obvious, to lift his head and plant an answering mark on Hannibal's flesh. As obvious as luring Hannibal close to him. As impossible to argue with as lunging from his Alpha's bed and tearing into the flesh of a traitorous wretch who tried to see him dethroned.

He parts his jaws, and bites. Until he tastes blood that is not his and not the nameless would-be assassin's. The taste of Hannibal is like honey and wine on his dry tongue. He sinks his teeth in until they almost connect around bone, snarling as Hannibal shudders and shoves his hips against Will's, pressing his knot deeper, driving Will insensate with satisfaction.

He wraps his arms around his Alpha, releases his jaws and licks over his bleeding neck, his purr loud and unbroken as Hannibal nuzzles him in turn. When Hannibal's knot goes down, he rises only long enough to fetch more flesh from the carcass, and feeds it to Will by hand, rolls him to his belly and puts his head at the foot of the nest so Will can see what he has done.

He smiles, and moans, arching in readiness as Hannibal penetrates him again. Their fingers lace at the edge of the nest, and though Will's lashes flutter with pleasure as his Alpha fucks him through another orgasm and seals his knot inside once more, they remain wide open.

Hannibal breathes out, and bites another mating mark to the back of Will's neck when Will begs for it. "When you are able, you will sign the contract," Hannibal whispers, "and leave this room a Queen."

Will smiles, closes his eyes, and tilts his head to rub his bloodstained cheek against Hannibal's. He quite likes the sound of that.

Will's heat lasts three days. They feast on the dead man and on Hannibal's offered food. He binds Will's wound with gentle touches, and when Will can finally breathe and think of something more than having his Alpha mount him, Hannibal bathes them both with warm water that smells of mint and sandalwood, and covers Will in thick robes befitting a Royal.

When they emerge, Hannibal goes to his generals, first, Will at his side. No one seems particularly surprised at this development, though Will catches Chiyoh, Francis, and Tobias exchanging a small handful of coin. He rolls his eyes, huffing a laugh, and wonders if they wagered on the inevitability or the speed of it all.

The feast Hannibal throws when he announces his plan to free the slaves is large and lavish, meat piled high on the long wooden tables. Mason is there, his eyes bright and red with outrage, mouth twisted in a betrayed snarl.

He stands, and Will goes tense at Hannibal's side.

"My Lord," Mason says, holding his hands out for silence. Hannibal tilts his head, and gestures him forward so he can speak. Tobias is at Hannibal's other side, leaning in close so he can translate between their languages. "May I be the first to congratulate you on these happy times." His smile is wide, and Will feels a fissure of anxiousness curl up in his gut. "And, of course, give you another heartfelt congratulations at your choice of mate. Will is young and beautiful, and will serve you well."

"Thank you, Lord Verger," Hannibal replies. He is sitting on his throne, because he is the King. Will is at his side – there is no chair for him, yet, but he doesn't mind standing. It feels good to stretch his legs, and amusingly nice to know Hannibal isn't the kind of Alpha to be threatened by someone standing taller than he, with their head higher. Mason would have never tolerated such a thing.

"I must tell you something though, Your Majesty," Mason continues, smile wide, voice dripping with cloying sweetness. "About your new Queen."

Will's eyes widen. His stomach tenses with horror at the darkness in Mason's eyes. Hannibal frowns.

"It may interest you to know that Will here," Mason says, gesturing to Will, "is a member of our Night Order. Perhaps you do not know of this Order. They are trained by the King to destroy his enemies. With seduction, if it calls for that." Will snarls at him, and Mason's grin widens. "He was bid by me to seduce and manipulate you, and kill you when I gave the word." He spreads his hands out wide in a placating gesture. "I know when to admit defeat. I merely wanted to warn you about the snake that you have so-eagerly welcomed into your bed."

Silence meets his declaration. For a moment, there is only Tobias whispering, as he finishes translating for Hannibal. The silence stretches on, after, so heavy and tense Will could cut it with a knife. He closes his eyes and bows his head when he feels Hannibal's eyes lift to him.

Then, his eyes fly open in shock, as Hannibal laughs.

"I know," he says, and takes Will's hand.

Will's gaze snaps to him, blinking in surprise. Hannibal stands, and kisses his knuckles, pulling Will to his side. "Why do you look so surprised, darling?" he murmurs, so only Will can hear. "Did you think I would not learn the truth?"

"I -." Will shakes his head. "How did you -?"

"Franklyn told me," Hannibal says, and nods to the other Omega, who is hovering nervously behind Margot near Mason's emptied seat. "I knew of this Order – it is famous, and I knew its origin was here. I asked him if there were any agents left."

He smiles, and kisses Will's cheek. "Imagine my surprise," he purrs, "when the most beautiful and striking Omega I had ever seen remained the last surviving member. When that Omega captured me as none other had, and welcomed me to his bed, and struck me blind with affection."

Will can merely stare at him, hardly daring to believe. Hannibal _knew_. He knew the whole time.

And, still, was gentle and kind to him. Buried Will with adoration, branded him with love. Asked for his counsel and his consent and still, freed him, after everything. He shakes his head and huffs an unsteady laugh.

"The first and last lie I will ever tell you," he promises.

Hannibal smiles, and turns away from him, raising his voice so Tobias can hear, and translate; "But you are right, Lord Verger. Will's Order is one loyal to the King. The rightful King. Surely there are none here who would question his decision, should he be asked to choose?"

Will blinks, brow creasing. Hannibal holds out his hand, and Tobias steps forward with a knife, the same knife the other assassin held that would have been Hannibal's end, placing it in his palm. Hannibal's smile is wide, eyes glowing a gentle red. He turns, and presses the handle into Will's hand.

"The choice is yours, Will," he says. "You are the Queen. You may strike me down and rule as you please, or kill your former master, and remain with me." Will's eyes are wide, and Hannibal steps back. There is a sword around his waist, and he unsheathes it, throwing it to the ground at Will's feet. "I will not resist, and I'm sure Lord Verger could not stand a moment against your ferocity."

Will stares at him, struck mute with disbelief. His hand tightens around the knife, and he looks away from Hannibal, down at Mason. Mason's face is pale, but his eyes glint with ire, and Will can tell that if he were to kill Hannibal now, maybe – maybe all would be forgiven. Mason is the King that Jack chose. Will has served him for so long, and he barely knows Hannibal. Conquerors come and go, but the rightful King should be -.

But there was never a choice. It seems so obvious.

Will swallows, and approaches Hannibal. He wraps a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him into a kiss, tip of his knife teasing Hannibal's belly. He is not wearing armor; it would be so easy to slide it in, through his stomach, up into his heart.

Still, Hannibal is smiling. He purrs, and Will's chest tightens in instinctive answer.

Will pulls away from him, and approaches Mason. Mason's eyes go wide, his face turning white as a ghost. He holds his hands out in protest, and Will smiles as Chiyoh and Francis emerge from the crowd, holding his arms and stopping him from running away. Mason sinks to his knees.

"Will," he says quickly. "Come now, don't do anything you'll regret."

"I find it very hard to believe I'll regret this," Will murmurs, coming to a halt at his knees. He reaches out and fists a hand in Mason's hair, yanking his head up. The blade kisses Mason's pale throat. He tilts his head.

"I am your _King_!" Mason snarls, spitting at Will's feet, his face twisted into a mask of outrage. "You serve me, slave! You are loyal to _me_!"

"I am loyal to no one," Will replies, smiling. "And didn't you hear the Royal decree? A slave to no one either. Certainly not to you, _my Lord._ "

He tightens his grip in Mason's hair, and slowly, so slowly, pushes the knife into his throat. It bursts with fresh blood, staining his arm, his robes, his feet. Mason chokes, gargling around the blood in his mouth, his eyes wide as he stares up at Will.

Will grits his teeth and pushes deeper, dragging the knife in a deep arc across the front of Mason's throat. It is slow and messy and the stench of blood overpowers all else.

When Will is done, and Mason is dead, he wipes the blade on his shoulder and turns to see Hannibal staring at him, eyes black with desire, breath turned heavy. He smiles, and approaches his Alpha, handing him back the blade.

Hannibal laughs, as Will cups his face and kisses him with blood on his hands, smeared into the corner of Hannibal's mouth. He licks the stain clean, purring loudly as Hannibal embraces him and kisses him in return, sending another pulse of heat down Will's spine that settles low in his belly, a hunger food has no hope of curing.

"Congratulations, my love," Hannibal purrs. "You have slaughtered one monster and bound another to your will."

Will laughs, a brow arched as Hannibal leads them back to the throne. Francis and Chiyoh drag Mason's body away, and slowly, a susurrus of conversation beings anew, like spring might come to raise the flowers from the ground. There are eyes on him, awed and afraid, but he doesn't care about that.

"I think chains would suit you," he muses, and laughs again when Hannibal smiles at him. "You truly knew?"

"Of course," Hannibal replies. He does not sit on his throne, but holds Will's hands, and they are both facing each other like a bride and groom at a wedding. He pets Will's bloody hair from his neck, revealing the first savage mating mark he laid on Will's throat.

"What would you have done, if I'd remained loyal to Mason?" Will rasps.

Hannibal sighs through his nose. "I do not know," he replies. Will tilts his head. "I supposed I would have had to kill you."

Will shivers.

"I am overjoyed you didn't force my hand."

"Our life together is still young," Will replies mildly. "There may be a time yet. I've been told I have quite a temper."

"I have already tasted your wrath, and found it beautiful. An honor to witness," Hannibal replies. He smiles, his eyes bright with pleasure when Will grins at him. Will steps back, gesturing for him to take his throne, surprised when Hannibal shakes his head and pulls him close again.

"I meant what I said, darling," he purrs, and kisses Will deeply. "You are the Queen. The last of your Order that predates Mason, or Jack, or he who came before. Your bloodline goes back to the foundation of this Kingdom."

He nods to the throne. "That is your place, not mine."

Will's eyes widen. "You can't mean that," he protests. "I'm not Royal."

"Neither am I," Hannibal reminds him.

Will's protests die on his tongue as Hannibal kisses him again, until Will's knees grow weak and his stomach too heavy to bear. "Sit, Will," Hannibal coaxes, and Will settles on the throne. It is wide and rigid, far too grand for his tastes, but perhaps it can be tempered with soft pillows, or he can remake it to better suit. Hannibal pets through his hair, nuzzles him in another lingering kiss, and parts from Will with a smile.

"Would you like some wine?" he asks, as Will did when Hannibal first took his place upon this very throne.

Will's mouth is so dry, his pulse racing. He nods, and Hannibal bows his head, and retrieves a pitcher and fresh goblet from the nearest table. He returns swiftly, and offers it to Will. Then, under Will's wide-eyed gaze, he kneels, and kisses Will's hand.

"Long may you reign, my love."

Will's fingers flex against Hannibal's mouth. He cups his chin and brings him upright, bending down to kiss him. He blindly sets his goblet upon the wide arm of the throne and wraps both hands in Hannibal's hair as, around them, the gathered courtiers, the servants, the freed slaves and Omegas, echo Hannibal's call.

"Long may _we_ reign," Will corrects with a smile.

Hannibal laughs, and nods. "Of course, darling. As you wish."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if this is a little rushed - in my defense, this was meant to be a one-shot. Who's surprised it grew not me.  
> I hope you guys liked it! See you in the next fic <3


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